Chronologically Incorrect
by sychofrantic
Summary: A heartbroken Spike forces Willow to go back in time to prevent him coming to America in 1900, but true the typical Joss fashion, nothing goes as planned. S&W. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Chronologically Incorrect**

Disclaimer: Not mine, not me, not I etcetera.

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Spike/Willow, William/Willow.

Warnings: Anything evil you can think of, I believe... ooh, not incest though! Yay me.

Summary: A heartbroken Spike forces Willow to go back in time to prevent him coming to America in 1900, but true the typical Joss fashion, nothing goes as planned.

**Chapters I to III**

* * *

**Part I**

Willow, once again, tried to struggle against the ropes, but that only served to cut deeper into her skin and she grimaced. She looked around the room, flinching as the vampires, all in game face, grinned at her leeringly. She moved her gaze up to Spike, who was pacing and ranting, tears evident in his voice.

"The only chance you had with me was when I was unconscious, " he mimicked in falsetto, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his duster. "Stupid bitch, she really has no idea—"

"If you ask me, you're the stupid one for falling in love with a slayer, Spike, " one of the stupider vampires jeered. The others quieted and stood rock still. The vampire, realising his mistake, backed up with his hands held out in front of his chest. Without warning, Spike stalked over to him and ripped out his throat. Willow winced and looked away from the gruesome sight before the vamp turned to dust.

"That's master to you, mate." He looked down at the unmoving ash and smirked. "Only not so much for you any more." He directed his speech to the rest of the undead, "Anyone else wanna dish out another oh-so-funny, pain inducing insult?" Silence met his question. "I thought so."

He wandered over to Willow so he towered over her. He reached for the corner of the tape covering her mouth, she shook her head violently but he just smiled and tore it off. He yelled in unison with her cry, clutching at his head. "Damn this chip!" he roared, punching the wall. She tried muttering a simple untying knot spell through her chafed, red lips, but she was shocked to find the knots stayed just as tight and she whimpered in despair.

Spike gave her a lopsided grin. "You're looking a lot like someone who just got impaled by your own sword." He laughed at the thought. "The ropes: magically protected," he explained.

"What do you want with me, Spike?" Willow demanded, her voice quavering. "I-I mean, I thought you were good now. You help us and…"

"Help you!?" he shouted, rolling his eyes, "What is it with you people? All you bloody well do is put things in black and white, good and evil, yet none of you seem to be able to grasp the concept that I loathe you and everything you stand for!"

She blinked owlishly up at him.

"For the love of…" Spike pushed the heel of his palms into his temples and squeezed his eyes shut, "A spell," he spat abruptly, "I need a spell."

"Another l-love spell? I-I can do that…" she said hastily, her eyes darting from side to side.

"No, not a love spell, you daft harpy, a time travel spell," he said calmly. "I'm gonna go back, right? Stop me and Dru ever coming to the bloody U.S of A. S'where all my trouble started." He paced back and forwards, "Gonna finally get what's mine…"

There was a collective murmuring around the room.

"Did I ask you to speak?!" The talking stopped immediately and Spike turned to Willow, slamming his hands down on the armrests either side of her. "Listen witch, tell me now so I can save the pain and…well, pain of givin' you to the fellas. Can you do it?"

"I-I…" she swallowed, looking down. "Yes." He smiled, satisfied. She cleared her throat, "B-But it doesn't work with um, vampiric life forms… only humans can…"

"What?!" he yelled angrily, "You lied to me, you stupid…" He shook his head, gesturing to a large vampire in the corner, "You. Deal with her." It smiled evilly before advancing on Willow and smacking her hard across the jaw. She cried out and he raised his arm to do it again, but Spike held up his hand to stop him. "Enough. Why not?"

She swallowed back tears, "I-I don't know, vampires aren't really a part of time, they don't age and a-are technically dead…they c-can't penetrate it…"

He crouched in front of Willow, tilting up her quivering chin with his forefinger. She jerked her head away from him and he laughed. "Spirit. I like that." He grabbed her chin in a vice-like grip, all trace of humour gone. "Well what are we going to do then love? I'd hate to have to…"

"I'll do it," she whispered. "I-I can go back"

He grinned. "Why should I trust you? How do I know you won't," he waved his arms about elaborately, making her jump, "mojo yourself out of here, run get the slayer, hmmm?" Willow bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to ignore his calculating stare.

"A pendant, " she whispered.

"What?" Spike snapped in an irritated voice. She looked at him sharply.

"O-Or a necklace, a ring maybe. Some piece of jewellery, I can, " she paused, "bind myself, against all magic except for that spell. I need something th-that's easy to carry, to curse, " she finished. Spike regarded her blankly for a moment before his face broke into a huge smirk.

"Well done witch! You've successfully avoided pain, well, some of it anyway. Mike!" he summoned a particularly evil looking vampire. "Bring me the pendant of that necklace I have upstairs and my lighter, I have an idea. " He pointed to a group of five vamps. "You. Ask little Red what she needs for the time travel spell and the other binding spell, oh, and don't hesitate to knock her around a bit if she gets wordy. "

"And let the spell be done, " she finished, watching in mild interest as the pendant glowed gold for a few moments before turning back to normal in her palm. Spike nodded to the vamps that surrounded her, and they pounced. She let out a strangled cry as the wind was knocked out of her, struggling in vain as one took the piece of jewellery from her clenched fist.

"Get off me!" she yelled, watching in horror as the one who had taken the pendant was now wearing a pair of thick fire-proof gloves and holding it with a pair of pliers and using a lighter to heat it up.

"Now, love, " Spike tutted "I don't think you're in any place to be making demands. "

She rocked side to side uselessly, transfixed with the plain metal pendant that was now red hot and slightly smoking. "No, no, no, " she chanted, trying to search her mind for a spell, any spell, but she couldn't keep her mind, or her eyes, off the glowing piece of metal slowly being moved towards her.

They ripped the front of her shirt and all coyness was forgotten in favour of hot, searing pain as he pressed the metal in the centre of her chest. She arched up and screamed, ignoring the hand that pressed tightly over her mouth, just concentrating on the gloved thumb that pushed the heated metal deeper into her burning flesh. Her cries stopped because of her dry throat, but she still thrashed and moaned after the pushing had stopped. The pain was still fresh and tight in her chest, but they mad her sit up and she looked questioningly at Spike, who just smirked.

"Well, we didn't want you to lose it, did we?" A bolt of pain shot through her as she moved the still-fresh wound and she gasped, falling unconscious.

Willow reached across the bed to snuggle close to Tara, but she wasn't there. Her eyes flew open and she sat up, only to be faced with a very annoyed Spike.

"We are way off schedule, fainting was not part of the arrangement," he snapped childishly, moving across the room to get something. Willow began to get up angrily, but as the sheet slid off, she realised she wasn't wearing anything. She made a noise of shock and hugged the sheet around her for dear life, her face a deep crimson. She tried a clothing spell, but it didn't work and she growled in frustration.

Spike turned back to her, a folded pile of old-fashioned clothing in his arms and a sardonic smile on his face. "You're neutered too, remember?" he sang, as if delighting at the words as they rolled off his tongue. He set the clothes down on the edge of the bed. "I want you ready for the spell, and dressed, in ten minutes," he made his way out the door.

"Wait!" she cried, "dressed in what? Where am I going?"

He regarded her thoughtfully, "You talk too much for someone so breakable."

"Where am I going?" Willow demanded.

He sighed, "1900. Around about Christmas time. S'when Dru and I finally got rid our bloody sires. Good times," he finished wistfully, before smiling at her, "Your job is to stop us coming here."

"And how," she began incredulously, "do you propose I do that? Even with my powers, it's not like I'm going to talk two psychotics out of coming here. But without, you're just gonna throw me at the mercy of…"

He used his pesky vampire speed to launch himself forward and grasp her neck, she gasped at the pressure that wasn't quite painful and Spike's left eye twitched, "Like I said," he muttered carefully, "you talk too much."

He straightened and dusted off his sleeves, "I'm sure you'll work something out. You're smart, right? That's gotta count for something."

"Why?" she whispered weakly as he actually began to leave, "What's the point Spike? What if it doesn't work?"

He threw a grin at her, "Think of it this way. If it works, you'll never have to see me again, and if it doesn't well… it'll still be a right laugh, won't it?"

"Ready, my Edwardian love?" Spike asked gleefully, eyeing the witch who was kneeled in the pentangle of salt, wearing a large dress that spread yards of white material around her. She held a slender finger to her pouted lips in a 'be quiet' gesture as she lit each candle with a match, mumbling a Latin word as the wick caught fire.

She turned dark eyes to his. "Yes."

He stood back as she began to chant the words of the spell she memorised.

"Abandon laws of space and time, " she sprinkled some foul smelling herb on each candle, they flickered but they didn't go out. Spike watched in awe as she continued. "Bring me to the date I seek to find, and as I quote the verse of three, drag me there…and mote it be…Abrogo…Fidius…fluctuatio…Abrogo…Fidius…fluctuatio…

Abrogo…Fidius…Fluctuatio!"

Willow resisted screaming but she gasped as the world swirled around her. She raised her arms, her now black eyes turning to the sky. "So mote it be." Willow repeated in a louder voice.

She cried out as the world was pulled out from under her and she fell through what felt like a huge gaping hole in the earth. Unable to stop herself now, she screamed, long and loud. Her lungs felt like they were about to explode but she kept screaming. The high-pitched sound of terror was lost in the swirling mass of colour and light, echoing around her as if a million voices were using that exact scream at once. Finally, the scenery became organised into what looked like an empty warehouse.

She didn't have long to study it, however, because her body landed heavily with an echoing 'thump' on an unfamiliar dusty floor. The fine dirt clouded around her and she coughed. Willow sat up, blinking as inky blackness deprived her of sight momentarily. It looked more like barn, now, more than a warehouse. There were old stacks of hay, spread erratically on the floor, but the boarded-up windows and musky scent caused Willow to suspect that it has been unused for quite some time. She made her way to a haystack to rest momentarily and winced as she sat.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked it to drag me there. Here," she added correctively, now beginning to wonder if here was actually where she had wanted to go. The interior of the barn proved nothing, so she stood up even though her body made numerous protests. Willow shuffled awkwardly towards what she thought was the way out, stumbling painfully over the long dress and lace up boots that she was not yet used to. She made a move to casually open the door, when she realised it was locked, she tried a more violent approach

"Waaaaargh!" She had moved back a few meters and was now hobbling as fast as her half-dead buttocks and numb legs could carry her. Sadly, that was not fast enough and she bounced off the surprisingly solid wooden door, landing flat on her back. She gasped for air and sat up with a new resolve, determined more than ever to get through the door that was now her new worst enemy. Ten minutes later, Willow sat with her back against the door and panted, occasionally banging it with her sore fist.

'I must look a mess,' she thought, wiping away strands of sweat-soaked hair from her face. She bit her lip, trying not to cry. 'It won't help,' she reminded herself, cursing the lone tear that made it's way down her cheek. Willow wiped it away stubbornly and punched the door one last time for good measure, when her ears, now more attuned because of the silence, picked up a rustling noise outside. She pressed the side of her head to the warm wood and listened hard.

"Woman of darkness, your beauty is…no, no, no…Maiden of-of sunlight!" The voice cleared his throat. "Maiden of sunlight, your beauty is…effulgent."

Despite her predicament, Willow let out a snort of laughter. She heard the footsteps stop and she strained to hear something.

"H-Hello?" The voice said timidly. "I have…a quill! A very sharp quill, and you shall fear your life if you come closer!"

She rolled her eyes before banging on the door, she heard a startled 'Oh my.'

She was about to yell out, tell him to get her to get the hell out of here when Spike's voice ran through her head. "Remember to talk good and proper," he had reminded her. "I don't want you burned at the stake before you get a chance to do your job".

"Begging your pardon, sir," Willow said in her best early twentieth century English voice, surprised she could pull it off so easily. "But I appear to be…uh, stuck in this…barn." She kept trying to think of other old-fashioned words to describe her situation, but came up empty.

"Can you get out?" He asked nervously.

"If I were able to get out, do you not think I might have already?" She snapped, biting her lip in instant regret.

"Quite," he mumbled. "Stand back ma'am, I'm going to…er…open the door."

"Thank you kindly," she breathed, getting up as quickly as she could. It wasn't quick enough, the man kicked in the door with relative ease, but it made contact with her forehead and she fell backwards. When she landed, her head hit the floor with a thump and she saw spots.

"Ma'am? I am profoundly sorry!" He stuttered, running up to kneel beside her.

She studied his face and frowned in recognition. "Spike," she murmured, before promptly passing out.

**Part II**

She heard mumbling soft in her ears, she couldn't understand a word being said but it aroused her from her deep slumber.

"Tara, honey, could you take the phone somewhere else? I'm trying to—"

"Ma'am?"

Her eyes snapped open and she looked in the direction of the voice. He was standing with an older woman, while he was staring at her with some contempt, the woman smiled and looked at the confused girl fondly.

"Hello," Willow said uncertainly "Where am I?" She looked at both their faces for an answer, and her gaze rested on the gentleman's. Willow knew she had seen him somewhere before, but she just couldn't place him.

"Madam…" he said stoutly, adjusting his glasses and making her feel like she was just about to get Wesley'd to death.

The woman waved her hand in his general direction, "Ignore William. He's in one of his moods."

Willow smiled, liking the old woman instantly. She looked at William… Where had she heard that name before?…'Oh my god' she thought to herself, studying his curly brown hair 'William the Bloody! That's Spike!' Willow felt a cold rush of fear then a sudden insane urge to laugh. He was such a…snob! God, if she got out of this alive, she was going make his life a living hell…after she set Buffy on him, of course. Oh gods, is he a vampire? Yup, there's that cold fear again.

"I could easily have you replaced, Marie, there are plenty of—" Erm, vampire slaves?

"Oh hush!" she said playfully, then she added in a dramatic voice. "Alas, not a day goes by without at least one threat regarding my job!" she ruffled his hair and Willow suppressed a giggle at his look of indignation, then his reluctant smile.

"Perhaps if you did not act so unconventionally—"

"Stop using such big words, I'm a maid, for goodness sake! Now," she turned back to Willow and began walking towards her slowly, as if she were afraid she might run away. "Dear, you've had us all in a bit of a tizzy, William said he found you—"

"Ha!" Willow covered her mouth with her hand. It probably wasn't appropriate to make sudden noises of mirth, but Marie chuckled understandingly. Okay, he found her. It was daylight. He wasn't a vampire. But that meant…

"I knew he was fibbing!" she said triumphantly "William was never the 'knight in shining armour' type"

"Oh no, no, no" she amended, snapping out of her daze. "He did find me but…"

"Yes?" Marie said eagerly, "What happened?"

Her mouth twisted in a smirk and she directed it at William "Do you mean before, or after he threatened to impale me on his quill and knocked me unconscious?"

She clapped her hands in glee "Oh William!" she said in mock disapproval "You really are a lady killer!" They both shared a laugh at that, and Willow clutched at her head as it began to pound. Marie immediately pushed her shoulders down gently so she was lying back again.

"How stupid of me! Lie down…er, what is your name dear?" Marie asked, tucking the quilt around her frame while watching her curiously.

"Willow," she breathed, a sudden rush of fatigue making her eyes drift shut, "the Bloody," she finished without thinking. She fell asleep; unaware of the worried glances the two other people in room were sharing.

There was no confusion when she woke up this time, she knew exactly where she was. 'But not when' she added mentally, looking gloomily around the well-furnished room. She made a noise of anger and swung her feet around so they landed flat on the cold floor, determined to get around Spike and his thorough…thoroughness! She looked down and realised she was only in her underwear, which was pretty much a camisole, a pair of baggy linen pants, and a few petticoats.

Her hand glided tentatively over the front of her chest, and she located the cool metal of the pendant still securely buried in her skin. It still stung and she bit her lip as she tried to pick it out, but electrifying pain webbed out over her torso and she whimpered, and then her face crumpled and her whimper became a sob. She buried her face in her hands and cried, hot tears dripped through her fingers and she winced as her fingers brushed a fresh bruise, and that just made her cry harder.

God, she had never felt so alone and helpless in her entire life. She wasn't just lost on the other side of the world; she was lost in a completely different time frame. No one would notice she was gone, and if she didn't succeed she'd either be killed, tortured, or worse, stuck in this stupid time, never aging, just living for pooping ever. She didn't even know what time it was! All she knew was that Spike was human, and that already equalled screw-uppage.

"Why are you crying?" a voice asked curiously.

She looked up quickly. Her vision a little blurred from tears, she wiped them away.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped, embarrassed to be caught crying.

William shifted the tray in his arms uncomfortably, he wasn't used to see women openly display their emotions in front of him, and he just didn't know how to react.

"I-I brought you some…food," he said, asking silent permission. They both heard her stomach rumble in the silence, she nodded and he made his way over.

"Here you go," he said, setting it gently on her lap.

"Thanks," she said half-gratefully, half-apologetic for her earlier behaviour.

His mouth twitched in an almost smile and suddenly, his face grew a deep crimson and he turned away "I'm s-so terribly sorry, I-I didn't r-r-realise, I-I-I-I-"

'Aw, Spike had a stammer,' Willow found herself thinking. "What's wrong?" she asked aloud.

He began nervously edging his way to the door, looking at anything but her. "You-You're n-not wearing…" he trailed off, his ears a bright pink.

She almost laughed at his pre-adolescent behaviour, but she kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself to not laugh. "I-I'll just leave you t-to your, er," he stopped moving and addressed the door "D-Do you need anything?"

"Actually, I—" but she was interrupted by the slamming door. "Don't need anything, but thanks for asking." She finished softly, beginning to eat her meal.

"Here you are, love." Marie said cheerily, handing her a green dress not unlike her own "We don't want you wandering around in your undergarments now, do we?" she chuckled, as if the whole idea was completely absurd.

"Thanks Marie." Willow smiled, holding out the dress and admiring it.

"Don't worry." She replied kindly, moving forward to unlace Willow's camisole.

Willow jumped back and Marie looked shocked "Sorry," she blushed, "I just usually do this thing myself."

Marie smiled understandingly but there was an awkward silence that now hung over them. Willow, who felt extremely guilty, tried to break it.

"Whose dress is this?" Marie turned around obediently as she removed her older underwear and put on the clean set the maid had given her.

"Oh, it's Chloe's. William's sister." She added in explanation. Willow tugged the dress over her head, the green satiny material was a little too tight, but not uncomfortably so.

"Oh, won't she mind me borrowing it?" Willow asked distractedly, twirling around in front of the mirror so material flowed around her.

Marie turned around, a sad smile on her face "Miss Sheldon…she's passed away."

Willow spun, a faint blush on her cheeks and a guilty frown on her mouth "I-I'm sorry."

The maid made a 'pfft' gesture with her hand. "Don't worry, dear, you didn't know."

Willow still felt bad. "Was it very recent?"

"No, it was when William was around eight, if I remember correctly." She said thoughtfully, pulling out a white towel from her hamper and folding it.

Willow's eyes widened, poor Spike, to have his sister torn away from him at such a young age…no, not poor Spike! Mean Spike!

"How did it happen?" she asked sympathetically.

Marie sighed, folding another towel as she talked "Bronchitis. I was there the whole time, her parents were going frantic, and William was oblivious, of course. Came such a shock to him when she died, although, it was probably for the best." She looked pained. "Her shoulder blades were like coat hangers, she could barely stand up. Coughing all hours of the night…" she put a hand to her chest and sat on a nearby chair, her breathing a little laboured.

Willow rushed to her side "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean t-to—"

Marie smiled a real smile. "Don't fret about little old me, I was just very close to her." She smiled faintly "When she was younger, William was only a baby but she was about…five, I think. She never looked at me as if I were a maid, Chloe didn't have many friends because…I don't know why, she was a very pleasant girl. But she always helped out, made cookies with me, helped look after William. I remember this one time—"

Willow listened patiently as she prattled on, smiling ever so slightly when the old woman giggled like a schoolgirl. Suddenly, a clock struck one somewhere in the house and both ladies jumped in surprise.

"Is that the time?" Willow said, standing up and dusting imaginary dirt off the front of her dress. "I really should be going, I need to find a job, a place to live—"

She was cut off by the woman's laughter. "Nonsense! You're staying here."

Willow's brows furrowed in confusion. "B-But, Spi-William…he—"

"He insisted on it." Marie informed her, also rising to her feet.

"But I thought…"

She smiled faintly, already knowing what she was thinking. "He's a very fickle one, our Will, but I'll say one thing: he's as chivalrous as they come. Even if he hated a woman, he would not say it or even indicate in any way that that was his opinion."

"So he hates me," she said grimly, strangely saddened by the news.

"Of course not, dear, he just finds you a tad different…you're not what he's used to."

Willow grew indignant, "Stuffy snob!" she exclaimed, "Doesn't even know me and he's labelling me!"

Marie laughed, "Well," she quietened her voice to a whisper, "He did walk in on you in your…underthings." She finished with a giggle.

Willow rolled her eyes, turning her back on the maid; "I suppose so. Could you lace me up please? The strings are making me itchy." Willow tucked her arm underneath her hair and held it up, making sure each strand was out of the woman's way.

Without a word, Marie tugged hard at the base of the laces and Willow yelped. "Look, I'm sorry, but you don't have to—"

"What?" the maid asked, confused. "I'm just lacing you up. Is there a problem?"

Willow was glad the woman couldn't see her blush. "No, nothing…it's just a little tight."

"Well that 's how it's supposed to be, Willow. Heavens, you're acting as if you've never worn a dress before!" she laughed, not noticing Willow flinch as she tugged the laces harder.

"Yes," she muttered, reaching out to grip the wall. "How silly of me."

After what seemed like hours, Marie tied a special knot at the base of Willow's skull and Willow let her hair fall back.

"Turn around and let me look at you," she said, twirling her finger in a circle.

Willow turned to face her and she gasped, covering her hand with her mouth. The dress was a deep bottle green, tight around the bodice but long and flowing from the waist down. The colour matched her hair and eyes perfectly, also complimenting her pale skin. The dress was quite plain in its design, but it flattered the young girl very much.

"You look beautiful," the Marie said, sounding a little jealous. Willow looked down at herself, blushing at the forced cleavage below her chin, before meeting the woman's eyes once more. "Really?" she asked doubtfully.

The woman nodded, all negative emotion gone from her face, "Quite. It suits you, Chloe had red hair too, but she had blue eyes."

"Like William's?" Willow asked, hands running over the material that was smooth to touch.

Marie looked at her strangely. "Yes. Like William's."

Willow smiled, "What is there to do around here? I feel like I shall die from boredom if I don't leave this room soon!" The maid smiled understandingly.

"Well, I have work to do so I can't show you around…Master Whitam send when you recovered you could do anything you wished."

"Who?"

"William. I know, it's strange thinking him as a master of anything, isn't it?" she chuckled. Willow laughed, trying not to sound knowing.

"Indeed. Um, for curiosity's sake, what is the date today?"

Marie blinked. "Why, it's November 17th, 1875. If you do not mind, I really must be—"

Willow felt faint, "Yes-Yes, of course, you should go."

The maid left quickly, shutting the door gently behind her. Willow sunk down onto the bed, her breathing shallow. 'I'm early,' she thought numbly before grabbing a pillow from beside her and giving the bed a fairly good thrashing. "I'm almost fifty years early, for god's sake! Why can't I ever get anything _right_?" A frustrated sound emerged from her throat and she threw the pillow to the floor before stilling.

'Okay, there's got to be a way around this. I can do something. There's gotta be a reason why I came to this part of time. I distinctly remember thinking '1922'. What can I do?'

"No more crying, that's what," she said resolutely to herself, ignoring the tears as they slid down her cheeks.

**Part III**

Willow made sure her face was free from any tear-tracks before she gamely ventured out into the long hallway. She had scowled at the mirror which had shown red, puffy, slightly bloodshot eyes, a prominent bruise on each cheek, and a small cut on her temple. But sadly, concealer hadn't been invented yet, and the only thing in the way of make-up was useless powdery stuff, which, if applied incorrectly as she had done, made you look like a hooker. Or Cordelia, B.X (Before Xander. Duh!)

The hallway was wide and brightly lit, contrasting sharply with the dull and dark room she had just stepped out of. Willow closed the door gently, but it didn't sound gentle enough and she winced at the seemingly loud 'click'. It was elegantly decorated, but she could see repetitive examples where masculine and feminine tastes clashed.

The floor was made of a dark mahogany wood, but the homeliness of it didn't prevent the cold temperature that radiated off, chilling her feet to numbness. She stopped occasionally to admire a painting or a piece of artwork: all completely pretentious, of course, and she doubted the Sheldons had any idea of their technical merits or their symbolic meanings and just bought them to compliment their extravagant décor.

She was surprised when one branched off hallway didn't lead to another elusive and threatening looking door, but a pair of white double doors with rectangular clouded glass letting in rays of inviting sunlight. Willlow bit her lip in indecision, arguing mentally whether or not she should leave the house. But the, she felt a streak of defiance run through her, her chin jutted out and she strode to the door purposefully. 'Just because he gave me permission to stay here, doesn't mean I have to stay in my room! I can come and go as I please.' She thought huffily, suddenly resentful towards him for no good reason. "Besides the whole 'kidnapping, torturing, and sending-back-in-time-away-from-my-friends' thing. I'd say that was a pretty good reason." Willow said sarcastically, reaching for the brass door handle and adding mentally, 'But this is William, not Spike. Jeez, Willow, stop being so—'

Her train of though cut short at the sight of the Sheldon's garden, she was shocked at how much warmer (figuratively speaking) it was outside rather than in, even though it was snowing gently. The light pieces of ice fell slowly to the ground already a few inches thick with the pure substance. Small hints of green were evident in odd patches over the verge of grass and on some of the leaves of the unrecognisable trees. A hobbled, nearly all hidden, pathway lead to a quaint little wooden gate, which then lead to a long stretch of road which failed to interest her.

A gust of wind blew and Willow shivered, but she didn't have the discipline to just shut the door and go back to the lonely room, so she foolishly stepped outside, bare foot, only vaguely considering trying to find her boots, and closed the door behind her. She once again admired the picturesque scenery, it's untouchability ruined but faint marks of upturned dirt and some fresh boot prints leading to what looked like a cream coloured greenhouse, minus the vegetables and, well, the green-ness.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she jumped off the sandstone step to follow the prints, gasping as her feet came in contact with the biting cold. The strides were a lot bigger than her own, so she had to leap to reach each one, whimpering each time her foot came in contact with the ice. Willow was so caught up in not missing a single print, she didn't realise the solid stone footpath surrounding the building was right in front of her. And her right foot, anticipating a long leap, slammed into the sharp edge. It took a moment for the pain to register, but by that time, she was face first on the snowy ground, which didn't seem so beautiful any more now her mouth was full of it. She hissed in pain, tears stinging the corner of her eyes. Willow struggled to sit up so she could inspect the injury, but the dress kept getting caught on something she couldn't see and she really didn't want to damage it, so she just lay there, wiggling around idiotically like a fish out of water.

"How come when ever I see you, you're never standing up?" she twisted her head to see him. The question wasn't made with the sarcastic voice and sexy-eyebrow quirk of Spike, but the genuine, almost childlike, curiosity of William. Her features darkened as she thought of Spike, and she glared at William who dared to resemble Spike in any way. He looked shocked at the gaze directed at him, but she refused to feel guilty.

"Well? Aren't you going to help me up?" she snapped. He seemed to literally jump out of his confused daze and, after mumbling something incoherent, he scooped her up in his arms. She unconsciously snuggled closer to his warm torso, forgetting her hatred of him in favour of the warmth that generated from his chest. His breathing hitched, but she didn't notice and rubbed her cold nose and cheek against the roughness of his coat.

He took her into the greenhouse-y thing, and she sighed at the surprising warmth that washed over her. But then she noticed the fireplace in the corner, "What an odd place to have a fireplace!" she thought.

"I agree. But most of our parties are held here, we need the warmth, especially in this weather." He explained.

"Oh," she blushed, not realising she had said that out loud. He set her down on the floor up against the wall, as there were no seats in the large area. And it was presumably where William had just been, judging by the quill, inkpot, and stacks of parchments. She made a move to pick one up, but he snatched the whole pile from her grasp. She made a noise of shock and he frowned, hugging the paper to him as though they contained some deep, dark secret he didn't want anyone else knowing.

"What is that?" she asked politely.

"Nothing…Poetry." He muttered, straightening up the pages askew in his arms.

Her curiosity was peaked. "May I read it?"

"No!" he said a little too loudly, "No…I-I it's not finished…t-the ink is still wet."

She almost laughed at the petty excuses, but hid that with a defiant frown, holding out her hand, "Come along, William, it has to be read at some point by another, why not your old friend Willow?" He missed the joke and his brow furrowed in confusion, she rolled her eyes, "Just give it here."

William held it a few inches out of reach, "The ink's still wet," he repeated quietly before allowing her to grab it from his hand. He sat down in front of her, knees drawn up to his chest and hugged to him in anticipation. He looked like a little kid, or a puppy, so eager to please and innocent, even though he was a grown man of twenty-one. She fought the urge to pat him on the head and her eyes turned to the pages in front of her.

"Your beauty—" she began, but he cut her off.

"Please don't read it aloud…I-I don't think I could bare it."

Willow nodded understandingly and her eyes skimmed over the words, forcing herself not to laugh at the sappy words that she read. He seemed to be more focused on rhyming than making any kind of sense, and he used a lot of unnecessary words in the stupidest places. But it had a lot of intense feelings in it towards someone, she had to give him that, the meaning was so clear she found herself frowning at how desperate his words sounded.

She lifted her eyes to his, not surprised to find him blushing. "These poems," she said bluntly, "They're about a girl?"

It was more of an observation than a question, but he nodded embarrassedly, "How did you know?"

"Dearest William," she drawled, "Your message is as clear as a spring morning." He crimsoned but she used his silence as an opportunity to ask whom the object of his desire was.

"Cecily…Cecily Addams," he whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

"What kind of woman deserves the affections of the illustrious William, I wonder?" she teased playfully, but he looked at her as if she had just asked why fish swim.

"But you have never seen such a woman! Her beauty could never be described with a quill and paper, her grace rivals that of a cat's, her mind is like a—"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," she muttered. "She does not return your feelings?"

His animated face was suddenly cold, "No. I have never told her for my feelings, but I am sure she suspects…she chooses to ignore them." William's eyes were downcast and the sight tugged at her heart.

"William…may I be honest?"

He met her gaze, "Yes."

"You're poetry…it has a lot to be desired." He clenched his fists, looking away again. "But you have a lot of potential. There are so many untapped emotions in you, William, but you do not seek them out. You write from here," she pressed her finger to his temple, and his eyes flicked up to hers. "But you have to write from here." She then poked him in the chest over his heart.

"How do you know?" he said bitterly, with a slight touch of hope.

"I-I'm a poet myself." She figured the gods would forgive her for that one lie. She did major in poetry and English literature; she could quote poem after poem so she was in no danger of being discovered.

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly.

"Willow. I already told you."

He looked embarrassed again. "I mean…y-your last name…you s-said 'The Bloody' a-and I thought—"

"Oh, no!" She laughed nervously. "It's, er, Bloodeneen." Willow cursed herself for the choice, but he seemed to accept it.

"Bloodeneen. It suits you, your hair looks like…" he reached up to touch it, and for some reason, she was letting him. When his warm hand brushed her cheek, it hit a bruise and she flinched away.

He looked hurt for a moment before noticing the bruise. The muscle in his cheek stirred as he clenched his teeth together, "Do you have a lover?"

She blushed at the personal question, "Yes." Willow answered, thinking of Tara.

"Did he…hit you?" he asked. She stayed silent, unable to answer the question. He took her silence as an answer in the affirmative and his fists and jaw clenched so hard she thought he would explode in a shower of tense muscle. She smiled at his concern, thinking of how unlike Spike he was. But the thought of Spike made her demeanour immediately harden. She couldn't help it, the fact that his cheekbones were as pronounced, his eyes as blue, his frame as lean, only served to fuel her undeserved dislike of him.

She knew he only resembled Spike physically, but every time she found herself warming to his innocence, a jolt of electricity seemed to come from the cold metal embedded in her chest and warn her. William seemed to notice her change in how she acted and he pouted, but probably not intentionally, and she couldn't help grinning.

"You're wearing Chloe's dress." He said, studying her non-threateningly.

"Yes," she answered, looking down at herself and seeing the metallic glimmer between the hollow of her breasts that went completely unnoticed by William.

"It suits you." He sounded as if he were apologising, but that only made her feel guilty because technically he had done nothing wrong.

"Thank you." She replied, an apologetic note also in her tone.

He smiled slightly, "Can you walk?"

She returned the smile; "Yes…I think so."

William looked embarrassed again. "Will you teach me all you know…of the written word?" he asked shyly.

"Of course."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** See Chapter 1 for warnings etc.

**Chapters IV to VI**

* * *

**Part IV**

Willow awoke, yawning and stretching simultaneously. Those actions drained her of the little energy she had so she laid still for awhile, watching as the sun's rays spread over her duvet covers. Once that bored her, her gaze flickered about the room settling on a large blue dress and some more underclothes. It looked more loose fitting, but it was a lot more elegantly made and she had a feeling the colour and style would not suit her at all.

Willow threw off her bed covers reluctantly, shivering as her once-warm legs were exposed to a rush of cold air. She shivered again when her legs swung around and her feet pressed onto the cold wooden floor. Standing up, she padded her way over to the old-fashioned bathroom, glad at least that a primitive form of plumbing systems had been invented. She bathed quickly, self-conscious in a bathroom that wasn't her own and pulled on all the fresh clothes left for her. It took her awhile but she managed to lace up the built-in corset at the back of her dress, but she didn't do it as tight as Marie had. One, she couldn't reach properly, and two, she didn't want to.

Once she was dressed and she had brushed her hair out, she knew her suspicions were correct: the dress didn't suit her. It was revealing but loose fitting, too tight around the middle and too loose around the bust, but she felt more comfortable in it than the green dress and for now, comfort was her first prerogative. Willow danced around the room foolishly, revelling in how elegant yet out of place she looked. She threw her arms above her head and watched the skirt swish around her waist, almost falling as her stockinged feet slid on the floor, but that just made her giggle.

"Miss Bloodeneen?" A voice enquired.

She stopped her playful antics immediately, turning to the person with a 'deer caught in headlights' look on her face. William had an odd expression on his face, he was either trying not to laugh or trying not to run away in fear. She suspected the latter, but she gave no indication she thought so and just gazed at him innocently.

"Yes, Mr Shellmon?"

"It's Sheldon, actually…b-but you can call me William…if you want, but if you don't want to, I completely understand, I-I mean it is highly informal, but more casual, unless that's inappropriate…"

She wanted to laugh at his first attempt at suaveness, but then she felt a rush of empathy when he began to babble. She knew how bad babbling could be, sometimes she would start talking about something and end up talking about something different. It was highly embarrassing at best, and it usually led to blushing, which then led to more babbling.

"I'll call you William," she offered, then smiled shyly. "It's a lot easier to remember than Mr Shellman."

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it and smiled. "I just came to get you for breakfast. You are ready, aren't you?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Just, my hands are cold, and—"

"Oh, say no more." He gathered her hands in his, which were surprisingly warm, and began rubbing them. It was a friendly, if not only hospitable gesture, but Willow still blushed as his coarse hands caressed her soft ones vigorously.

"Uhm, I was thinking more along the line of gloves." She whispered, trying to spare him some embarrassment. He blushed furiously, his hands jerking away as if she had suddenly become red-hot.

"I-I-I-I'm s-s-s—"

"Don't mention it." She interrupted; her voice apologetic. "Gloves?"

He shook his head as if trying to clear it, and smiled shakily, "Y-Yes, I'll j-just…" he trailed off and turned away, opening the nearest drawer and rifling through it. It was a few seconds before he made a small noise of triumph and turned back to her, a pair of pristine white gauntlets in his hand. She frowned, doubtful they would give her the warmth she required. 'Not as well as William's hands will, anyway!' A voice in side her head cackled. She quickly pushed the voice aside, assuming it to be her inner child. 'Yes,' she said to the voice, 'a very annoying inner child!'

She tugged them on but only had seconds to admire how beautiful they made her hands look before William interrupted her hand-admiration with his quiet voice.

"Breakfast?"

She looked at him, smiling slightly. "Yes. Then afterwards, could we go outside? This house makes me feel claustrophobic…n-no offense, I-I mean it's j-just…a bit…Oh, and w-we can work on poetry."

He was satisfied with that answer, trying not to laugh at her babble. "Of course, Miss Willow." He held the door open for her, smiling. "After you."

"William, please _try_ and focus on what I'm saying," Willow huffed. "Stop comparing the 'love of your life' to inanimate objects!"

William was sweet as heck, and he was an eager learner, but his ability to look like he was listening one minute and contradicting what he'd claimed he understood the next was the only thing Willow seemed to be helping him sharpen. She explained the important of symbolism, but how not to use it too brazenly. Her explanations began slowly, but her sore stomach and his less-than-admirable aptitude for poetry was slowly working her into a frenzy.

"But she is like the parasol!" he objected, "Delicate, beautiful, useful—"

She snorted. "Oh, and we all know how much women _love_ to hear that they're useful!" The sarcasm was lost on him, and he gave her a bewildered 'yeah, so what's your point?' look. Apparently, sarcasm wasn't well known in the eighteenth century and she sighed. "Listen, William," she said more calmly, "You need to stop bringing pointless things into your poetry. Stop saying what she resembles, what she acts like, just say what she _is_."

He blinked. "What-what she is?"

"Yes," she said slowly, then she stood from her position on the bench opposite to walk around behind him. "Don't look at me," she said softly as he tried to turn. "Just close your eyes and think. What is she to you?"

He closed his eyes obediently, trying hard to focus on what she was saying.

"Imagine. Imagine she is right there in front of you, what do you see?" She began circling him, studying the expressions that flitted across his face. "Come on, William, she's right there, tapping her foot impatiently…oh now look, she's walking away—"

"She's beautiful!" He said quickly, blushing as he realised he had already said that repeatedly throughout the day.

"Good." She said agreeably, and he seemed satisfied. "Simple, yet it says so much, doesn't it?"

He nodded. "Her eyes brown, like big pools of—"

"No," her voice trembled from the effort of restraining herself. "They're brown. What kind of brown?"

"Deep," he sighed, "They're a deep, hazelnut brown. They stand out beautifully against her pale skin; it's so velvety soft. And she smells so fresh, her perfume is spicy and—" He stopped abruptly and she was startled out of her reverie. She stopped walking and stood in front of him, regarding him with curiosity.

"What is it? You were doing so—" Her gaze drifted down from his bright face to his lap where William's hands were tightly clamped over his…

"Oh god." Willow whispered. She went from crimson, to pale, to a bright pink and then promptly burst out laughing. She hugged her stomach tightly as silent laughter made her body shake involuntarily. He stood, obviously intending to shut her up, but the action drew her attention to what looked like a large pop tent in his trousers, and that only served to make William redder and make Willow laugh harder.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry but—" She gasped for air, covering her face with gloved hands. "But you have a—"

"Excuse me," He said rudely, trying to storm off.

She immediately sobered and grabbed his arm. "Hey no, I'm sorry, okay? It was my fault…come on, just sit down! We haven't finished."

He mumbled something Willow didn't catch, but she pressed on cautiously. "You were getting so good though…Look, I won't mention it again, okay?"

"Promise?" He muttered, still unable to meet her eyes.

"Promise." She agreed, her eyes straying over the now normal-sized bulge and sighing with relief. "Let's get off imagery, shall we?" He nodded earnestly in agreement. "How about rhythm?"

He tried not to show his confusion, but she could see it in his eyes. "Rhythm gives a poem a beat, like a fluency to draw attention to the words. Poetry is food for the soul, and you don't want it to sound terrible."

William nodded, determined to understand. "Okay, let me give you an example, umm…" she thought hard, trying to think of a suitable poem to recite. It couldn't be too modern, or too old-fashioned, and it had to stick to his 'romance' genre. She decided on one by Shakespeare, at least it already been done so she was in no risk of screwing up time.

"Now listen hard, and when I'm done, I want you to tell me how this makes you feel. Just concentrate, OK?" When she got a positive reply, she opened her mouth and began to recite the poem imprinted on her mind.

"O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?

O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low:

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting,

Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;

Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure:

In delay there lies not plenty;

Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,

Youth's a stuff will not endure."

Willow finished, only to be faced with William's bewildered stare. "B-But, there is no definable pattern! No structure! No—"

"This is exactly what I mean!" She interrupted loudly, though not unkindly. "Stop thinking! Poetry is not the work of brains, nor is it the work of mathematicians! Poetry is not about logic, it is about unbridled human emotions flowing from your heart," she emphasised this point by shoving him over his racing heart, he stumbled slightly but he did not look away. "Love is not calculated, love is not planned, so why should poetry, the voice of love, be any different? You have to let go, Spike, stop hanging onto your sensibility and just let go!"

She regretted saying that, because William was blushing. Again. No matter how much she wanted it to annoy her, she always found it cute. He was so contradictory to Spike, it made her head spin if she thought too much about it. But he was still Spike. You can take the soul out of the William but you can't take the Spike out of the William, and no matter how hard she tried, all she could see was Spike, wearing a stupid costume and a wig. He'd stopped blushing and was looking at her oddly.

"Miss Willow?"

"Yes?" She spat, trying to control her anger and having no luck. He looked like she had just whipped him and he flinched, but he didn't look away.

"You called me Spike." He informed her, gauging her reaction.

Willow knew, one day, she would snap and all the feelings she held in her heart about Spike would come out in an unrelenting torrent and she could do nothing to stop it. She both feared and longed for that day, she was sick of locking her feelings in that little box that she usually only kept for Oz, and Tara when they fought. But she didn't want to hurt William. He was an innocent in all of this, no matter how much she thought the opposite.

She clenched her fists; not noticing the little crescent shaped dents it made in her palms. Willow didn't answer, trying to concentrate on not letting her guard down, otherwise she would be on William like a tonne of bricks, effectively getting her thrown out of the only place where she had any chance at the slightest bit of normalcy in this unfamiliar, scary time frame.

Willow knew, one day, she would snap and all the feelings she held in her heart about Spike would come out in an unrelenting torrent and she could do nothing to stop it. She both feared and longed for that day, she was sick of locking her feelings in that little box that she usually only kept for Oz, and Tara when they fought. But she didn't want to hurt William. He was an innocent in all of this, no matter how much she thought the opposite.

"William." She said slowly.

He looked scared. "Miss Willow?"

"Would you like to hear some more poetry?" Once again, she found herself subtly apologising to him. She somehow knew this would be a pattern for the remainder of her stay and sighed; this was going to be a long thirty years.

**Part V**

"Can we go for a walk?" Willow asked, eyes shining with hope.

It had been just over a month since their first 'poetry lesson' and there had been many others since, though not quite as eventful as the first. But in those days, in the lessons that seemed to take hours, she had only been able to teach him the basics. William was slow on the uptake, but his eagerness to learn almost made up for that. Almost.

Willow had once prided herself on being a very patient woman, but one minute with Sp-William and she would have a strange urge to bash her head through the closest stone wall. He was polite and sweet, so Willow never had the heart to lash out at him or wrench those glasses from his face, which he cleaned every thirty seconds in a very Giles-like way, and stamp them to pieces. But slow or not, he was getting it, and she couldn't help the feeling of pride wash over her every time he wrote an almost bearable lyric.

And, since the Shakespeare incident, Willow had been surprised at his response and admiration of the poetry she read to him. He would often ask her to repeat certain poems she had recited in the past, or a line she had recited only moments ago. He wasn't so wary of poems with erratic rhyming schemes any more, either, but she did catch him flinching once or twice when a poem had a less than desirable structure.

One day, she had grown curious about his parents. If the house weren't so big, she would've sworn William lived alone, besides Marie and the other housekeepers. But when she was around him, which was quite often, he only seemed to go outside, his room, and occasionally the dining room, so she doubted very much that he owned this entire house. Willow's curiosity got the better of her and she had enquired about his parents while they were eating dinner one afternoon.

"They're not around much," he had murmured, his ears a bright pink. "Travelling…socialising…" He had trailed off and spent the rest of the meal toying with his food, making it pretty clear that the conversation was over. She looked at him with empathy, she could relate to the whole 'parent abandoning' thing. Having pretty much raised herself since she was ten years old, Willow felt a rush of anger on his behalf. She opened her mouth to comfort him, but Spike's sneering face drifted across her mind and she bowed her head, keeping her mouth shut and only opening it to shovel great mouthfuls of food in.

But later that night she had realised how desperately she wanted to know about his parents. Were they cold and distant when they were around, or were they warm and loving? Were both their eyes blue, or brown, or green? Were Sp-William's lips his own, or did he get them from his father? Or maybe his mother? By the time she was in bed, her head was buzzing with questions and theories. Willow tossed and turned for awhile before forcing her thoughts to take a different direction, which, of course, was sex with Tara.

"Please?" She pleaded, coming back to the present.

"I don't know…are you well?" She realised his apprehension was caused by concern over her, not his own hide. She blinked a few times before replying.

"I'm fine. Take me somewhere exciting, I'm bored stiff!" She knew she sounded like a child, and horribly rude as she noticed the hurt look in his eyes. "Please?" She said again, softer. He relented, and she gave a whoop of excitement, which he observed with amusement-laced eyes.

"I'll just tell Marie…"

She nodded vigorously as he left her room, and wasted no time in getting changed. Willow hadn't once set foot outside the garden that she admired so much at first, but was now beginning to bore her with its familiarity. She wrapped a huge coat she had found in the back of the closet one time around her small frame. It was made out of wool on the outside and something close to resembling silk on the inside. The first time William had seen her in it, he had been shocked, but he soon relaxed when he figured she'd only be wearing it in the privacy of his own garden.

She grinned almost devilishly as she tugged on the equally offensive black woollen gloves, savouring the warmth they brought to her slender fingers as opposed to those useless, show-offy gauntlets that had barely lasted a few hours in her daily routine. She was adjusting the seam of her stockings as he walked in, she glanced back and watched him take in her appearance. Instead of the confused spluttering and profuse blushing she had expected, his face broke into a surprising grin.

"You little minx!" He teased. "You do this on purpose, just to torment me, don't you?"

She was a little caught of guard at his teasing manner, but she managed a quick reply. "It's all I live for, you know that!"

For once, the joke didn't sail right over his head and his grin became a short laugh. "Come along, Marie knows where we're going…Heavens, you look like a boy with those clothes on!"

"I'll never tire of hearing that." She scowled, smacking him lightly on the shoulder before walking past him into the corridor.

On their way out, she saw Sp-William don a black, knee length coat made of very much the same material as hers, and she was shocked at how much he resembled Spike at that moment. But, as he threw a tentative grin at her, she couldn't bring herself to be angry with him and threw an equally tentative grin back.

"You should see where we're going!" He said excitedly, his voice breaking the not so uncomfortable silence. "You'll love it, it's beautiful."

'How would you know what I love?' She wanted to retort, but she bit her tongue. "Where are we going?" She asked, walking through the gate he so politely opened.

He shut it behind him and walked up to her, a mischievous grin on his mouth. "It's a surprise."

She groaned, walking astride him along the edge of the road. "I loathe surprises."

He chuckled at that, but said nothing indicating where they were going, giving her no doubt at all that he was indeed Spike, but once again, the idea didn't anger her. It stirred something inside her, but it wasn't anger. She had no idea what it was, but she didn't like it. Rest assured, her hatred for Spike still remained, strong as ever, but William…he was so unlike Spike, it just wasn't funny any more.

They had been walking for what seemed like hours before Willow burst out. "How long have we been walking?"

"Ten minutes," he said absently.

"Ugh, well my feet are killing me! I think I have blisters." She said the last part with a whimper, emphasising her point with a pathetic limp. For once, he was the one who sighed in exasperation.

"It's only another twenty minutes…" He trailed off when he saw a carriage round the corner, but Willow ignored it and continued moaning.

"Twenty minutes?! That's double what we've already walked! I just hate these darn shoes, they're impractical, they're small—"

"Ah, another lady discussing your finer points again, William?" A voice sneered.

She spun around, a guilty look on her face. Willow was confronted with a handsome man leaning out of the side door window. His black hair lay in swirls over his scalp with sideburns that were a little too long. His face was slightly tan and refined, showing evidence of abused wealth. His eyes were a mocking grey as he leered at her. She didn't like him, she decided, and instantly backed away towards William.

"Willow, this is Gordon Brodereck, Gordon, this is Willow Bloodeneen." His introduction was short and reluctant, and Willow studied his expression curiously, realising he didn't like the other man either, but it seemed his hatred went a bit deeper than her feelings of instant dislike.

He continued to appraise her body in the masculine clothes, and by the glint in his eyes, she could tell he liked what he saw. "For shame William, to allow a lady of this magnitude exert herself in such a way…" He looked straight at Willow as he said it. "Perhaps I could give you a ride?"

The innuendo wasn't lost on Willow and she stepped back, right into Spike's arms. She was shocked, but she hid it well and acted as if she wanted to be there. William played along and let his hands rest protectively on her waist to steady her, but once she was steady he kept them there.

"We'll be fine, actually. We were looking forward to the whole…walking part." Willow said, his behaviour now annoying her more than anything.

He smirked, but it was a done with condescending humour. "Is that so?"

"Yes. That's so." She replied shortly.

He continued to make her feel naked under his gaze, and she resisted covering herself in favour of doing her best Willow-glare. He sighed in what seemed like disappointment. "Oh well, perhaps I'll see you at the ball next month and we could get properly acquainted then?"

"Looking forward to it." She said sarcastically, refusing to look away.

He grinned in a predatory way before slipping back inside. "Home, Joseph." He barked, and Willow jumped as the horses and carriage breezed past them in a fast clop. There was silence for a moment before they both broke it at the same time.

"What a jerk!"

"I'm sorry."

She stepped away from his casual embrace and turned to face him. "Sorry? Why are you sorry? It's that…cad who should be sorry!"

He shook his head, "He was right…I-I shouldn't have a lady of this magnitude—"

"You think I have magnitude?" Coming from anyone else, Willow would have smacked them upside the head and asked them what the hell they were talking about.

He blushed, "Well, not so…I-I mean, you may h-have…yes."

"Thanks, Will." She said softly, and then she added fiercely. "What a chauvinist! I can walk if I damn well please, whether or not you allow me to!" She paused to take a breath. "Will, what ball is he taking about?"

He looked uncomfortable. "There's a ball at the Brodereck's; dressy…I wasn't planning on going, they're tasteful, of course, but—"

"Is Cecily going to be there?" She asked bluntly.

He blushed. "Yes."

"Then we will go," she declared, linking her arm through his. "To not go would be a sin. What better place to woo young Cecily than a ball?"

"But Miss Willow!" He implored. "I am not yet ready to face her! All your words of advice will fly out of my head and I'll become a wreck! Such beauty requires all my brain power, I couldn't possibly concentrate on anything but her!"

"Shh, William," she soothed. "You still have a…month, was it? By then you could face her, and I have no doubt you could recite the most beautiful sonnets with one eye closed by then."

He looked at her hopefully through the corner of her eyes. "You really think so?"

"Of course!" she scoffed, "Come along, I'll read…what was that one you like from yesterday by Heinrich Heine?"

"Of Pearls and Stars!" He said eagerly.

"Alright, you do it with me." She said wickedly, he stumbled on the path.

"B-But I h-haven't—"

"Come along! You must know it by now! Just follow my lead, okay?"

He nodded and she opened her mouth, looking at him encouragingly. "The pearly treasures of the sea, The lights that spatter heaven above, More precious than these wonders are, my heart-of-hearts filled with your love."

He froze before saying the next part so softly she had to strain to hear him. "The ocean's power, the heavenly sights, cannot outweigh a love filled heart. And sparkling stars or glowing pearls, pale as love flashes, beams and darts."

"So, little, youthful maiden come, into my ample, feverish heart." Willow stopped quickly so William finished on his own. "For heaven and earth and sea and sky, do melt as love has melt my heart." He blushed pink when he realised he had finished the poem on his own, but Willow was glowing with pride.

"See, I knew you could do it!"

"Thanks to—oh, we're here!" He pointed over her shoulder and she gasped, her eyes widening.

"Wow." She said dumbly, trying to take in every square inch of the valley in front of her. Two hillsides, dusted lightly with snow, dipped down and met in a reasonably thin river, which was now frozen solid. She looked down over the rail of the bridge she hadn't realised they had go onto and gazed at the ice covered in flakes of snow and a huge grin lit up her face.

"Slides!" She yelled, running around the bridge to land on the snowy ground. Unfazed, she lifted her skirts and bounded through the snow. William watched with fear, and some amusement, as she jumped onto the iced river with an almighty leap and slid easily across the surface. Memories of Xander and Jesse flooded her mind and she imagined the three of them weaving fluidly around the rink before colliding in a mess of ice and laughter. But her scream of pleasure was misunderstood by William for one of fear and raced around the bridge himself.

"Hold on Willow!" He shouted, swallowing as he jumped on to the ice. His superior weight and strength gave him extra momentum and he was sliding down the ice at a very high speed. His cries of terror were now combined with Willow's breathless laughs.

"Look out Will, there's a corner—" She began to slow but his inexperience made him unprepared for it and his arms moved frantically around in a windmill motion in an effort to stop.

"Willow!" He shouted in warning, before colliding with her slowed frame and sending them both headfirst into the snow. She tried to roll over to glare at him, but his heavy body covered hers.

"Get off, will you?" She snapped, shivering at the cold.

"Willow, I'm—"

"Sorry. Yeah, yeah." He braced himself on his arms and she flipped over, giving him her best glare. Her stare faltered as she realised how close he was, she could breathe in the breath the fogged in front of his face. He was studying her face with an equal intensity, his nose and cheeks pink but his eyes a clear blue. Willow was about to laugh to stop the awkwardness, but his lips pressed gently against her own in a light kiss, effectively silencing her.

**Part VI**

She froze in shock, the feeling of his warm lips moving against hers stunning her for a moment before she layed a hand flat against his chest and pushed gently. He broke away, his face sad and apologetic, but no stuttering apology came.

"William…why did you do that?" She breathed, her eyes wide with curiosity. Willow wasn't mad, not even close, but she was thrown by it. It was, she had to admit, rather good…okay, very good, but every possible motivation he could have had flew out of her head.

"I-I don't know," he admitted. "It felt like a kissing moment."

"Did you want to?" Willow asked.

He looked away from her searching gaze. "Yes."

"Why?"

He sighed. "You're the only woman who's ever…shown me any attention, acted like she cared about me…you're like a friend to me, I don't have many…any of those…I want to have you." He ended with a whisper, his gaze penetrating.

"Oh William," she said softly, brushing a clump of curly brown hair out of his eyes. "I do care about you, and I am your friend, but—"

"Nothing more," he finished, not surprised but a little sad. "I know, I-I'm not so sure I want to be more with you either…you were just, um, there."

She nodded understandingly. "You still love Cecily, but she's unresponsive, and I'm convenient."

William shook his head vigorously. "N-No, you aren't a convenience." He blushed. "You're a necessity."

She studied his face for a moment before wrapping her arms around him in a friendly hug. He responded instantly, holding her close as if his life depended on it, and that's when she realised. William had no one. His parents were rarely around, and if they were, they probably ignored him most of the time anyway.

She bit her lip to stop from crying when he buried his face in her neck and sighed, he had no friends, he had said so himself. Even when her parents were away for weeks on end, she always had Xander, or Buffy, and once Jesse. But William, he had been alone until she came along, and because of the attention she had shown him, he was overwhelmed that somebody was there for him finally. So he reacted in the only way he knew how to hang onto her, his only companion in a long while.

"Get off, Will, my legs have gone numb." She laughed, and he laughed also, although she suspected it was more from relief that she didn't reject his friendship.

He stood up and then helped her up, then they both dusted themselves off.

"Come on William," she said wickedly. "I'll show you how to slide properly."

"No, no, no…I'll just watch." He insisted.

"Buck-Buck-Buck!" She crowed, her arms flapping like chicken wings.

"I am not—"

"Buck-Buck!"

"Stop—"

"Buck-Buck-Buck!"

"Fine!" He said tersely, crossing his arms. "Show me how to bloody slide!"

It was the first time she heard him curse, or sound so much like Spike, and she tried desperately not to harden herself against him again, knowing how much he needed her right now.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," she mocked, leaping onto the smooth ice with cat-like grace. "I will show you."

Willow opened her crusty lids heavily as the loud knocking awoke her from her sleep, she moaned in response to the knock and let her eyes shut. The knock sounded again, but it was louder and accompanied with a voice.

"Miss Willow? It's 11 o'clock…are you awake?"

She opened her mouth to tell him to get lost, but the demand came out as a flemmy cough and she winced as dried up mucus on her nose cracked, taking some hair with it. Then, if that wasn't bad enough, when her face moved to talk again, her nose stung and she sneezed, not three times, but four in a row. Plus, when she sat up, her head grew hot and started to throb. The knocking continued, and it felt like a little man with a hammer was pounding away at the back of her head in time with each bang.

"Go away," she croaked, rubbing her throat at the effort.

He came in and caught sight of her pale, sweating face and her hand clutched to her throat, William froze. Not again, he begged silently, please god not again. She looked just like Chloe at that moment, same sickly features, same hacking cough, same fiery red hair…

"Marie!" he yelled, his voice breaking. "Come to Willow's room, hurry! Bring y-your medical bag!" He rushed to Willow's side and pressed his cold hand to her boiling forehead. She sighed and her hand came up to hold it there, and he noticed in dismay that her palm was sweating lightly. "Don't worry, Marie used to be a doctor, you'll be fine."

"I d-don't feel s-so good." Her teeth chattered, but she was terribly flushed.

"You'll be fine." He repeated, just as Marie came in with a large leather bag and what looked like a primitive looking air filter mask over her nose and mouth.

"What's wrong?" She asked seriously, her voice slightly muffled. She moved in front of William to crouch by Willow's side.

"Throat…hurts," she wheezed.

"Hush, dear." Marie said softly, taking a few things out of her bag she turned to William. "You should go, it could be contagious."

"B-but—"

"Go. The only way you can help is to stay away." The older woman instructed sternly before turning back to Willow and checking her neck for inflammation. William looked at her worriedly for a few moments, flinching as Marie slid something down Willow's throat, and walked quietly to the door, shutting it gently behind him as he left.

"Well? What's wrong?" William demanded.

It had been three hours. Three long hours and William had slowly been going mad, images of Chloe flashed through his mind and he buried his face in his hands. His parents and Marie had thought he was unaware of Chloe's illness, so they hadn't enlightened him on it. What he was aware of, though, was her sudden weight loss, the fact she wouldn't play hide and seek with him any more, her dull eyes, and her reluctance to smile when he was around. But, in his innocence he had convinced himself that she would live. She was, after all, his beloved sister Chloe.

Her death was like moving from a pleasantly warm bath to an ice-cold one; shocking. At first, it had outraged him. She wasn't supposed to die, he needed her! But then his anger turned to bitterness, he grew indifferent and refused to talk to anyone. When he stepped out of that self-loathing bubble, however, he realised that everyone had gone.

His parents, who gave up trying to talk to him and began travelling more and more; Marie, who he had once been closer but she had never warmed to him again, and his friends…Gordon Brodereck, Terry Bradshaw, and Christopher Addams; Cecily's brother. He barely recognised them now, and they acted like he was their worst enemy, tormenting him whenever they got the chance, even though William had been president of the W.H.G (We Hate Girls Club).

"She's fine," Marie replied.

William sighed in relief. "What's wrong with her?"

"Well, she has a pretty severe case of the cold, most likely caused by this damnsome weather, but that's not all," Marie paused, trying to read his expression. "I didn't recognise some of the symptoms, like crusty eyes, swollen throat glands, surplus sneezing…they aren't fatal, my guess is she inhaled or ate something poisonous in a light dose."

"What is it?" He asked. "I-I mean, what did she consume?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "It's probably something in that room. It hadn't been attended to for awhile before Miss Bloodeneen came, and she spends a lot of time in there. I think we need to move her." William nodded in response. "Will you carry her for me? Oh, and put this on." She gave him a mask similar to her own and slipped hers back on.

"Of course."

When they came back, Willow was moving around a bit; seemingly asleep. William looked at Marie questioningly. "She's just suffering a bit of delirium, it's nothing serious, it's probably from all the time she's spent exposed to whatever is ailing her."

William nodded, pulling the covers off her before scooping her into his arms gently. Her neck flopped bonelessly back and William was quick to support her head, but not before he caught a light metallic glimmer between her breasts. He asked the gods to forgive him before allowing a single finger to lift up the top of her camisole. What he saw made him gasp and he almost dropped her.

"Good lord!" He exclaimed, unable to tear his gaze away from the metal buried deep in her chest. "Marie, look at this."

She looked at him, confused for a moment before catching sight of the pendant and making a similar noise to William. "Goodness! Who do you think did this?"

His features darkened when his mind flickered back to a conversation he and Willow had a long while ago. "Her lover. He beats her."

She crossed herself. "Poor child. Let's get her out of here."

He studied her face as her incoherent muttering carried on, the only words he could make out were; 'Tara, Spike, don't, and hurts.' Her lover was probably called Tara…a family name, most likely. And this Tara must hurt her with railroad spikes or other spikes of some kind.

"Where should she stay?" Marie asked softly, knowing the protective look on his face, for she had seen it many time with Chloe.

"My room." He said instantly. "It gets the most light, the windows can be opened and it's the cleanest. What do you think?"

She smiled inwardly. "Good idea. I've already cleaned up this morning, so it's ready for her."

"Excellent."

William tossed and turned that night. They'd already slipped into a pattern: he would wake her up, they would eat breakfast outside, then they'd discuss poetry, then they would just talk. Usually it was about him, she seldom talked about herself unless he begged to know about her family and friends. He was shocked to find that she had absentee parents as well, but he grew envious when she described her numerous friends. Except this Buffy person, she seemed a little self-centred for his tastes. When He had told Willow this and she just laughed understandingly, but then said Buffy had a lot of responsibility, justifying her behaviour. William pretended to agree, but his opinion didn't change; he still disliked how she sounded.

But he liked Xander, Dawn, and Giles. Anya sounded a bit odd, but Willow said she'd had a strange life so William had liked her too. When he asked about her lover, she'd clammed up and changed the subject. This only reinforced the physical abuse theory and he grew protective of her. Seeing that pendant marring her beautiful skin increased the feelings ten-fold.

But because of Willow's sudden illness, their pattern had been thrown off and he was at a loss. It was strange, he had lived with out her longer than he had lived with her, but she was slowly becoming a constant. He knew her need for 24-7 protection was an illusion built by him to make him feel needed, she was, in fact, a very headstrong woman and was quite capable of looking after herself. But her slight figure and huge green eyes made him want to gather her in his arms and rock her, although he would probably receive a strong punch for breaching the whole 'just friends' protocol.

He was so confused. He had never been so confused since Chloe's death. He didn't love her, not really, and he still adored Cecily more than life itself. But every time he was with Willow, he felt like he was betraying Cecily, and he didn't care. The guilt and nonchalance mixed together made a very peculiar combination, it drove him insane. She was pretty much a stranger to him, but he felt a shocking need to shelter her from all the bad things.

William sat up, unable to sleep. He walked down the hall in the direction of his bedroom, which Willow was now occupying. The thought of her sleeping in his bed sent chills up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. He opened the door quietly so as not to wake her. William was struck with the sight of her lying there peacefully, the moon making her pale skin glow almost blue. He watched and listened hard, and when he was content with the sound of her wheezing breath coming out steadily, he gave her one last glance before retiring back to the guest bedroom. And for some reason, after that he had no trouble getting to sleep.

* * *

_TBC... (when Fanfiction[dotnet stops screwing with me...)_


	3. Chapter 3

See Chapter 1 for warnings etc.

**Chapters VII to IX**

* * *

**Part VII**

William knocked lightly on the door, a tray holding a plate of breakfast Marie had prepared and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Marie had mentioned that Willow's temperature was down, as was the inflammation on her neck, and her breathing was regulated.

"But she still has a small cold. It'll clear up in a day or so," Marie had explained, "But don't let her stress too much and don't go…swapping bodily fluids." She giggled out the last part and William turned bright red at the maid's teasing. But this meant he could see her now. And she would be responsive, as opposed to her lying there while he recited poetry to her. Most of it was from books in his father's library and some of it was his own. He had hoped that periods of brain stimulation would rouse her quickly, and it seemed to work because she recovered a few days sooner than Marie had predicted.

He knocked again, nervous that she would still be sick or asleep or…

"Come in." Willow's voice drifted through the door. He resisted catapulting through it, instead opting to open it slowly so as not to spill the large glass of orange juice.

He shut it and turned to face her, returning her dry, thin-lipped smile with a large one of his own. She licked her lips and he winced as it seemed to scrape across the dry surface. Then, with a start he realised he was staring and blushed a little.

"I brought you some…"

"Food!" She said happily, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. "And orange juice! Stop your gawking and get your tailored derriere over here now."

He laughed and made his way over to her, his long strides faltered as she sneezed into her cupped hands. She wiped them on a lace handkerchief beside her he hadn't noticed before. William smiled uncertainly and placed the tray on her lap, completely unaware that she was only dressed in one of his large shirts that he told Marie to change her into, insisting it was cleaner and more comfortable than what she had been wearing lately.

Willow practically inhaled the juice in one gulp; a look of complete joy on her face as she licked off the juice moustache that stuck to her upper lip.

"Mmm, pulpy." She sighed, before reaching for a fork and digging into the scrambled eggs with slivers of ham cooked inside. It looked as if her eyes rolled back into her head and she scooped another large mouthful that she chewed greedily, making almost unintelligible breathy noises.

William was enraptured with this display. He had never seen someone so happy while eating. In fact, he had never seen someone so happy ever. She looked at him for a moment and mistaking his shocked look for one of disgust, she swallowed and began playing with her food, or what little was left of it.

He frowned, missing her little happy noises instantly, he wanted to hear her make them again but he didn't know how.

"I'm glad you're better." He blurted out, his face heating up.

She smiled. "Thanks."

"The first few days, I…"

"The first few days?!" she shrieked, making him jump as if something pointy had jabbed him in the behind. "How long was I out? Was I in a coma? Oh my god, what is the date?"

He stared at her for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. The noise made Willow relax, and she settled back into her pillows, enjoying the happy tinkling sound. He realised she was watching him and stopped, but not before he wiped a tear out of his eye.

"Don't worry, Willow," he said gently, pulling his chair closer so his knees touched the side of her bed. "It's December 22nd. 1879," he added teasingly, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

"When is the ball?"

He blushed, his hopes that she had forgotten about the extravagant party quashed. "New years eve."

Her eyes widened. "That gives me just over a week t-to learn how to dance."

"Learn how to…" He kept his mouth shut, hoping what he knew was coming wasn't coming.

"You are going to teach me, aren't you? I mean, you can't have an uncultured floozy for a date now, can you?"

"Yes." he said stubbornly, determined for once to refuse this woman.

"You think I'm uncultured?" she sniffed, exploiting his sensitive, chivalrous side.

"No! No, Willow I…"

"Yes you do!" she buried her face in her hands, thanking the gods for those drama lessons she had to take alone when Buffy spent more time on slaying.

"Will-I-No-You-Oh, allright!" he finished with a shout, cursing his weakness.

"Yes-Yes-Yes!" She did her own version of the sit-down snoopy dance, and that made it all worth it for William.

"For that, would you like to hear some Edgar Allen Poe?" she asked. It felt like she hadn't talked about poetry or read any in ages, she didn't feel disconnected, but because had been spending time away from home, devoid of all modern conveniences for so long, she needed poetry as her lifeline.

"Who?"

"Oh, you'll like him; he's brilliant!" She said happily, and her enthusiasm was contagious as he sat Indian style on the bed, his eyes shining.

"Could I hear some?"

"Okay, here goes, it's called To…Cecily," she lied, hoping to get him even more excited. She was successful.

"Really? That's quite amazing."

She felt bad for her lie, so she didn't elaborate further before reciting it:

"H—Cecily, thy beauty is to me,

Like those Nicean barks of yore,

That gently, over a perfumed sea,

The weary, wayworn wanderer bore,

To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home,

To the glory that was Greece,

And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! In yon brilliant window-niche,

How statue-like I see thee stand the agate lamp within thy hand!

Ah, Psyche, from the regions, which are Holy Land."

"That was…beautiful."

God, she was beautiful when she read poetry, it was like she was digging up some long lost memory or telling him a dark secret. Her eyes always glazed over and he felt like there was nothing but them for miles. But he loved Cecily…loves! Heavens, a few minutes alone with this woman and he was already speaking of his love for Cecily in the past tense. But it was anything but past, he still ached for her, wrote his poetry for her, dreamed about her…

"…some of yours?"

"Huh?" He snapped out of his train of thought to see Willow regarding him worriedly.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. What were you saying?"

"Could you read me some of yours? Poetry, I mean." He wished she'd never asked as he felt the familiar blush spread over his face and ears.

"I…It's not finished." he offered lamely, only to see her sad eyes looking at him.

"Please?"

He folded instantly. Standing up, he walked over to the set of drawers by his bed and opened the top one. He rifled through the top drawer before he located a stack of papers.

"I'll read you one…it's ah, about, love and, er, Cecily."

She nodded and he began to nervously read:

"Your beauty is a million stars,

Like those I worship from afar,

Your skin so pale, so gleaming, so glowing,

I look at you and feel love's blood flowing.

It streams out of my fingertips,

And spreads across my worthless scripts,

In words that only half describe,

Everything you have inside.

But I'll wait, a million years and then a day,

Until I carry you away,

To a place that is our own,

Where we shall never be alone.

For I have you, and you have me,

And I can't wait until you see,

That you and I, are meant to be…"

"Wow…that was, I mean…I, well…"

God, was she asleep that long? Had he progressed so far without her? She grew angry; sure, it wasn't enough to send her back in time where she didn't fit in, but to make her feel left out just as she was beginning to adjust? Her throat constricted as she milled over the words still fresh in her mind. She opened her mouth to deliver a proper compliment when Marie burst through the door, her face flushed.

"Your parents!"

"What? What's wrong?" William asked, leaping off the bed.

"The messenger…brought the l-letter…too late," she panted.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"For goodness sake, Will, give her a chance to breathe!" Willow was still upset about the stupid irony of her still being left behind, even in the past. So she, as usual, took it out on William, but more subtly than usual.

"What is it, Marie?" he said softly, heeding Willow's advice.

"Your parents," she repeated, "They're coming home this afternoon."

Angelus dropped the now lifeless body at his feet. "Gaaah," he groaned happily, smacking his lips. "Nothing better than terrified virgin." He returned to his human visage just as Drucilla dropped the handsome male boy she had been feeding on, but unlike Angelus, she did not bother to clean the hot liquid from her face and it dripped from her chin.

"Daddy got a virgin!" She squealed, but then her gaze became sombre. "Princess didn't. Princess got a many-a-used fellow. His blood was like soup."

His hand snaked out to her wrist and he twisted her arm behind her back, then pulled her to him with a thump. "Does princess want a virgin?"

She shook her head. "Princess wants a baby of her very own. She wants words in his head," Drucilla said delightedly. "But the fishes, they don't swim in his brains like wriggly worms!"

He ignored her rambling and took her mouth in a rough kiss, licking the blood from her jaw. "You shall have a childe, Dru, yer old Sire'll take care of that."

Her eyes glazed over and he let her go, recognising this as the beginnings of one of her visions. "A lady," she hissed, clutching at her head, "She does not belong…she treats time like a cake, but all her dollies didn't come for tea! She is like a puppy, no bark…no bite…She has him, she has my baby!" Then she began to spin and laugh.

At that moment, Darla came around the corner. "Oh, for hell's sake!" Darla snapped, eyeing the insane vamp with golden eyes. "Does any word out of her mouth hold an ounce of anything comprehensible?"

"Relax, sire," Angelus soothed.

"No, I will not!" she huffed. "What's the point of having a seer if we can't understand a damn thing she says?"

"Well, she assures me she's never been wrong," Angelus laughed.

"I do not value you your source, childe," Darla muttered.

"Speaking of which, Drucilla's thinking about a childe…of her own."

Darla threw her head back and brayed loudly, her face becoming human as tears trickled down her cheeks. "You're serious?" His face remained calm, and she glared. "Think logically. She can barely take care of herself, let alone her own childer. The last thing we need is another Mort!"

Angelus shuddered at the memory of Dru's first childe. Despite feeding him enough blood to make her weak, the little idiot had gotten himself staked on a broken box within his first month. The crazy vampire had cried for days until Angelus and Darla shackled her to the wall and beat her with hot pokers. Soon, she was her old self again.

"That won't happen this time."

"No?"

"No," he replied defiantly, "I will help her with this one. He will be better trained. I'll make him in me own image, and he'll become one of us. Another Angelus, sire. Think of it."

Her mouth watered at the possibilities, but she kept up her cool façade. "I won't allow her to sire one yet, Angelus. We will wait till the Hour of the Hora, he will be strongest then."

"I can taste the hope in you, sire. You are wanting a boy?"

"Close. I am wanting a toy to keep your prattling princess under control. Then perhaps you could pay attention to me once and awhile, instead of the 'Most Insane One'."

He tried not to swagger or smirk, but it was almost impossible not to do either. She spotted this and her eyes narrowed. "My little childe's getting a little too cocky. What do you think Dru? A couple of hours on the rack?"

Angelus' eyes darkened in equal parts of fear and lust, and Drucilla clapped excitedly. "The wolves dance like flames to your song, grandmother!"

**Part IIX**

"That's a good thing…right?" Willow asked hesitantly.

The silence continued for a few more seconds, but they seemed like hours for Willow. She had watched as all emotion fell from his face, and his expression was blank and slightly paler than usual. William quickly snapped out of his trance-like state and turned to Marie.

"Marie…clean the house again, make sure there is not a speck of dust anywhere."

"Yes, sir."

'Sir?' A bewildered Willow thought, 'Since when does she call him that?'

"Get Francis to buy some lavender, plenty of them. I want every vase filled."

"Why?" Willow asked curiously, but William ignored her.

"Claire, Will's mother, likes them, a lot," she added mischievously.

Instead of joining in the laughter, William's eyes flashed. "Enough of that Marie. Not while they're here, just act normal, will you?"

"Hey, don't talk to her that!" Willow protested, but he ignored her again.

"Marie, call the seamstress, Marita's probably finished sewing the curtains by now," he pondered for a moment, "Make it violet."

"Yes, sir."

Willow opened her mouth to set him straight, but Marie took her arm firmly and guided her to the door, so she settled for a glare in his direction. As soon as she was out the door, she exploded into a rant.

"What an ass! He has no right to talk to you like that, or to ignore me! He's a big…pompous…dumb-head!" she finished lamely, only to see Marie looking ahead with a soft smile on her face. "How could you let him treat you like that, and just accept it?"

"He's my employer."

"Bull. Pardon me, but I know there's more to this than you're letting on."

The maid sighed, looking at her reluctantly. "Alright…William's parents…they aren't very nice people," she said in a rush, "They're perfectionists, and not in a good way. They pick at Will about everything, he has to be home at six, he has to keep the servants in order, he has to eat his food in a clock-wise direction, you get the idea. They only come for about three days at a time, but that's usually enough."

"Enough?" Willow asked, her eyes wide.

"To change him. For a while, he gets snappy and agitated, but I soon set him straight. He gets so confused, poor baby, they bring out the worst in him…he becomes like any other male for awhile, but don't take it personally. It's terrible Willow, I'm sorry you had to be here to see this."

"Don't be sorry," she said fiercely, determination burning in her eyes, "I'm going to stop it."

"N-no, you can't. Believe me, I've tried…their hold is too strong."

"I don't care," she said honestly. It was like her parents only so much more controlling. Even though he was older, William was still such a kid inside, and she couldn't bear to see him hurt.

"You'll just get into trouble," she tried half-heartedly, recognising the look on her face.

"I know," Willow replied sombrely, "Now, what does he want in violet?"

"I refuse to wear this!" Willow complained, shoving away the seamstress that scuttled about her feet. At first she had tried to be as polite and as accommodating as possible, but this woman wore her patience thin in the first five minutes. And that was three hours ago.

"But Master Sheldon ordered me to make it especially."

"I don't care what Master Sheldon ordered you to do. Look at it, it makes me look fat!"

The dress was just a little too big around the torso and, huge, fluffy, and long over the legs. Plus it had long sleeves and a virginal neckline that left nearly everything to the imagination.

"Willow?"

Willow spun toward the door in the direction of the voice. And there stood a very dishevelled and rushed looking William, and she blushed as he observed her in the hideous, near-finished dress. "Will, tell this woman I don't want to wear this stupid dress."

"You need to," he answered, walking into the room. "Mother likes purple, she'll just love you in that outfit. I promise."

"But I don't like it," she insisted. "The colour doesn't suit me at all. It's too big, and I feel like the Virgin Mary with this neckline. It's choking me!"

"Come on Willow, be a sport. I need for my mother to like you."

"Well, I don't care what your mother thinks, I won't wear it. I won't." She crossed her arms over her chest, gently elbowing the seamstress away as she tried to fix up a bit of the hemming on the shoulder.

"Willow," he warned.

"Can't I just wear one of Chloe's dresses? I like the green ones, they're a lot better than…"

"For god's sake, Willow, just wear the damn dress!"

"I. Don't. Like. It." She punctuated each word with a step towards him.

They were nose to nose, or in Willow's case, nose to chin. But despite her inferior height, she kept her gaze hard and unrelenting. His gaze was flicking over her face, as if he was about to kiss her. She didn't move away, but she regretted it because his hands seized her upper arms and pushed her to the floor. She landed with a soft 'thump' on the carpet littered with pieces of material. A small shot of pain ran up each arm, which had taken the brunt of her fall and she yelped.

Instantly he was by her side, muttering apologies and inspecting her body. But Willow just lie there in shock, no one had really hurt her like that before. Sure a few demons and supernatural beings had knocked her around a bit, but not like this. He was William, and 'William' and 'hurting' in the same sentence didn't mesh quite as well as it used to. Willow hated to admit it, but he had become such a good friend in the time that she'd been here, and she couldn't help but feel betrayed by his actions.

She stood up, looking over at him as he gazed back at her with guilty eyes. "I get your pain Will, I get it…But if you ever, ever touch me like that again, I'm gone. None of your half-arsed excuses or apologies are gonna work. I'm just gonna go." She tugged off the dress, not caring that he was seeing her in her underwear, they were just like regular clothes to her anyway. "And I'm not wearing this dress."

It took her twenty minutes to get ready, and that's because Marie insisted on doing her hair.

"Wearing your hair out is very inappropriate. I'm surprised William didn't mention it," she said as she tried to tame Willow's hair into small hairclips on top of her head.

"Well, he wasn't to busy to tell me what to wear," she grumbled, rotating her arms as Marie told her to do every five minutes to prevent stiffness.

"I told you, he gets edgy, just do what he says."

"I would, normally. But his parents aren't even here yet and he's already acting like Dr Jeykll and Mr. Hyde."

Marie pretended to understand that and continued. "All the more reason to ignore the things he does and just go with the things he says. They're only visiting for a few days."

"They're not visiting for Christmas?" Willow asked incredulously, trying to turn to see Marie.

"Hold still, dear, I'm curling your hair with hot irons. Of course they are, but they don't really acknowledge it, they just need to stay long enough to fix him to their liking and keep up the pretence that they're a happy family."

Willow sat still for a moment, trying not to imagine hot irons in her hair but also trying to build up some more sympathy for William after his brutal display earlier, and found quite easily that she could. Sure, he was exploiting her weakness, but with parents like his coming to visit, her annoying him and contradicting everything he said, she could empathise. How many times had she wanted to smack Buffy upside the head? More than once, that's for sure.

"There!" Marie said happily, "All done…" There was a series of rings on the doorbell and she gasped. "Good lord, they're here! Put on your boots and gloves Willow, and come into the foyer in about five minutes."

Willow barely had a chance to nod before the door slammed behind Marie, and she felt the cold hand of nerves tug at her stomach. She was meeting his parents, his scary parents that made him into the man he was today. Suddenly, Willow wished she had worn the purple dress. She quickly pulled on her boots and gloves, not risking putting on the big male boots or black, woolly gloves.

When she reached the foyer, her heart was racing. But she managed to hold her head up high and open the door.

"Miss Bloodeneen," William greeted Willow jovially, but his smile seemed forced. "Allow me to take your shawl."

"Shouldn't you get the help to do that, William?" a haughty voice said. She looked at his parents and tried not to look shocked. They contrasted sharply with the visions in her head of them. They were not old and wrinkled, but young and very good-looking. The wife had soft brown hair, much like William's and it was worn in a very similar style to Willows. William didn't mention her age, but she looked around twenty-five, which Willow very highly doubted. She looked delicate and beautiful, like a china doll, but her brown eyes showed nothing beautiful. They were hollow and cold.

William's father was not too different. He was the spitting image of Spike, except his blonde hair was cut short and he was slightly balding. But his larger build and superior height made him more like 'Spike Plus'. She didn't like him at all. He was leering at her, his thin-lipped smile was snake-like. Both of them unnerved her and she could no longer carry any anger for Spike or William. Imagine having to live with this for more than a day!

"Y-yes, of course," William said nervously. He gestured to Marie and she curtsied before gently taking her shawl and hanging it on a hook beside two coats and another shawl in purple.

"So," Mrs Whitam gave her a once over "This is your new bride?"

William jumped to her side, his arm slipping about her waist. "Yes, mother."

She glared arrows at him, but his eyes pleaded with her so her expression became neutral and she smiled pleasantly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Please, call me Claire," Mrs Whitam replied, "After all, you are making our son defy his family, so we should get to know each other better."

Willow shuddered inwardly at the thought, "How do you mean, defy?"

"Your bride has an inquisitive mind, son." His father spoke for the first time, surprising her with a cockney accent similar to Spike's. "You should take care of that."

"Yes, father."

Inside she fumed, but she kept her 'pleasant-bordering-on-stoned' expression on and William seemed relieved.

"Tell me, my dear, what do you do?" Mr. Whitman asked in a patronising voice.

'I kick your ass!' she thought. "Nothing. I used to study poetry but I gave that up when William and I wedded."

Willow jumped as they laughed simultaneously. It was so robotic it scared her.

"He obviously put you off it, right William?" his mother giggled, and Willow tried not to glare. William mentioned one time that they were completely unsupportive in his aspirations towards poetry, but he didn't mention they became cruel and teasing when the subject was brought up.

"Actually, he's quite good. Have you read some of his recent works? They really are quite fascinating." William's parents narrowed their eyes and William gave her a 'thank you but now look what you've done' look, but she continued bravely. "I actually gave it up because he belittled me in that area, so high is his eloquence."

"Yes, well," Mr. Whitam snorted, "Poetry is the work of men, a little too complex for women, as I understand it."

"Quite," Willow replied through clenched teeth.

The tension was thick in the air for a moment, so William cleared his throat. "It really is time for us to retire. Mother? Father? You must be tired from your long trip, allow Marie to escort you to your room."

"Indeed, " Mrs. Whitam sniffed, picking up her handbag and clutching it to her chest demurely.

"We will see you in the morning." Mr Whitam's face was stoic, but as he brushed past her she felt his hand glide over her clothed backside. She flinched away but didn't make a sound. She knew he would deny everything and she would just get William into trouble.

The pole that seemed to be holding William up disappeared and he visibly sagged. "Come on Willow, now that we're 'married' we should sleep in the same room. Don't worry," he added grimly. "I'll sleep on the floor."

While Willow lay on his bed, listening to him breathe and knowing he was tossing and turning on the hard floor with a singular blanket, she sighed and rolled over, watching for a few moments as he wiggled about.

"Hey, snake man," she whispered, "Come up to bed, there's enough room for two." Truthfully, she was a little cold and lonely, and she needed a snuggle.

"B-but…"

"Get into bed."

He shrugged and got up, climbing beneath the covers and carefully keeping his distance. "Come here." He complied, shifting over and letting her wrap her arms around him, he soon settled into this arrangement with a contented sigh.

"Willow?"

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry. For…For hitting you a-and my parents…a-and…"

"Don't worry about it, Will. I told you, I get your pain."

"I know." He hugged her tighter, inhaling her scent. "Thank you."

**Part IX**

The days following were as bad as Willow had guessed they would be. She awoke on Christmas morning with an unexplained rush of happiness. Even though she was Jewish, Christmas at home always meant Christmas dinner at Buffy's house and presents her friends insisted on buying. But then with a jolt she remembered Joyce was dead, and they didn't have Christmas dinner at her house any more. And then with an even more painful jolt, she remembered she was in the past. In a house with two really scary people who didn't celebrate Christmas. William had stirred beside her, his arms still about her waist.

"Willow?"

"Yeah?" She could feel his hot breath on her neck and she shivered.

"Are you okay?"

She paused, "It's Christmas."

He paused, "I know."

Even though it was quite late when they finally got up, around noon, Marie informed them that William's parents were still asleep. Willow sighed in relief and shot William an uncertain grin, which he returned full force.

"Let's go outside!" Willow said eagerly, tugging on his sleeves.

"Alright," he shrugged, taking her arm.

"Where are you two going?" a snide voice said behind them. They froze.

"Out, father," William supplied dutifully.

The older man shook his head, surveying Willow with one eye, "Sorry son, your mother wants you to stay in tonight. We're lunching with the Broderecks."

"Yes, father," he mumbled, untangling himself from Willow's arm.

Willow snapped, "Actually, we were planning to go for a walk, he doesn't want…"

He interrupted with a snide grin, "Actually," he mimicked, "you, Miss, er Mrs. Sheldon, do not need to attend. My wife was quite adamant about that. You see, the Broderecks do not know about you and, well, we thought it would be best if they continue not to."

Willow blushed in humiliation, and looked to William for support. But his face remained cool and collected, and her eyes darkened.

"Fine!" She threw her arms up exasperation, "I don't know about you, but I'm going out!"

She regretted it immediately. She shouldn't have yelled and she shouldn't have stormed out into the blistering cold without even a shawl around her arms. But they just made her so furious! The first day she had managed to remain passive and agreeable, but by the end of that day her nerves were worn thin. The next day wasn't so bad, she generally stayed out of their way and hung around outside. But, by each night, William had needed comfort in her arms, and she had only been too happy to do so. He never spoke, just climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around her. He sometimes sniffed her, but she pretended not to notice. On Christmas Eve, she had noticed a faint bruise on his jaw and she hugged him tighter, cursing his father's violent tendencies quite colourfully in her head.

After her dramatic storming out, she snuck shamefully back inside and pleaded with Marie to bring her a jacket. After that, she convinced the maid to accompany her to the markets. It took some convincing, but soon Marie rolled her eyes and followed Willow out into the cold.

"Here we are," Marie said happily, secretly cheerful about leaving the tension-thick house.

Willow looked around, awed, "Look at this place Marie, isn't it lovely?"

They wandered around a bit, ignoring brash salesmen who offered various pieces of junk at three for a shilling. Every time Willow picked something out, Marie shook her head.

"No dear. See the binding in the corners? It's practically falling apart!"

Finally, they arrived at a small stall near the end of the cobbled street. Willow pointed excitedly, "Look! It's perfect!" It was a shop that sold personalised books at four shillings apiece. Marie tried to convince her that it was way too expensive, but Willow knew this was the place for her.

"Excuse me, good sir," she greeted, "but do you have any journals in your stock?"

"Aye, I do ma'am," with that, he pulled out and old-fashioned leather bound journal. She flipped through the thick, cream coloured pages. They didn't have dates, but this was exactly what Willow wanted.

"It's perfect," she grinned, handing the book back to the man. "Could I have 'William's Journal' written on the front, if you please?" She took a handful of coins out of her pocket, and ignoring Marie's gasp, she counted out four shillings and gave it to the man.

"O'course," he grinned back, his mouth lacking in teeth, "It'll be about an hour, come back by then or I'll throw it 'way and keep yer money."

"No problem," she replied, leading Marie away.

"Where on earth did you get that money?" Marie whispered. Willow laughed guiltily.

"I sold my earrings," she confessed. She hadn't realised the diamond earrings Spike had given her had cost so much, but she needed some cash; so she took one of the servants aside and told her to sell them at a local jewellers'. When the stuttering servant had returned, she paid her five pounds of the hundred and the woman had almost fainted.

Willow and Marie spent the next hour generally walking around and chatting, mostly about William.

"You're good for him, you know," Marie confided.

Willow coughed, "What?"

"He's been a lot happier since you came. He's like…William again." Then she smiled secretively, "You like each other, do you not?"

"Yes, but as friends."

"I have seen you two in each other's company, and upon my word, a couple who were actually married have not shown such affection as you do, I'd wager."

"Marie! Could you stop it? We're just friends, nothing more. He's a good man, but he loves Cecily, and I love…" she faltered, "I love Tara."

"Oh, forget him!" Marie snapped, "He beats you! He…"

"What?" Willow asked sharply, "Who told you that?"

"William. Although, he didn't need to…I saw the-the pendant in your…" she trailed off at her pained look and Willow lay her palm flat against the metal in her skin.

"It wasn't him," she said quietly, "it was someone else." Marie looked apprehensive, but she didn't say anything more and they continued to wander around in silence for awhile. The sun set and Willow, out of habit, looked at her wrist, which was bare. She lifted her skirts to slightly above ankles and heard a collective gasp, but she ignored them.

"Come along, Marie, we'll be late!" Without another word, she sprinted off in the other direction towards the store.

Thankfully, she arrived just on time and the shopkeeper grudgingly handed her the beautiful journal, which Willow cradled in her arms like a precious baby. She looked around for Marie and saw with dismay that a gang of creepy-looking, pale men had surrounded the nearly middle-aged woman.

"Oh no," she whispered, "I'm so stupid, why didn't I think?"

To keep up the pretence of calm, she strolled over to the crowd and smiled at the shaken maid, "Marie!" she greeted. The group turned to her, their eyes flashing gold. But they gave her a once over and smiled, and then made their way over to her. "Hello gentlemen, what can we do for you?"

They snickered. "Oh, a few things," the biggest one said, and they all guffawed stupidly. She smiled as if she was agreeing, and they looked at her in surprise before making their way over to her. Willow blushed, said a small prayer, and gripped the vampire's crotch.

"Infecundus," she whispered. Nothing happened. She swore, remembering the pendant in her chest. The vampire was looking at her with a leering grin, so she just shrugged her shoulders, dug her nails in, and twisted hard. The vampire's mouth opened in a silent scream and he stumbled backwards.

"Lets' get out of here!" his voice squeaked, and all the confused vampires ran off after him. Willow heard him say 'slayer' a few times, and the others scared mumbling before they disappeared into the night. Marie looked after them for a moment, before turning worriedly to Willow.

"Who were they?"

"Oh," she appeared casual, "They're just a gang of-of thieves…I, um, we have them in the Americas. I recognised their…manner of dress."

"But why did they run away?"

"I don't know," she lied, "come along, let's go home."

After bidding Marie farewell, she tip-toed through the too quiet house, flinching at the slightest sound. On her way to her room, she heard a soft murmuring coming from down the eerie hallway. In favour of her curiosity, she followed the noise until it led to a slightly ajar door with light streaming through.

'Curiosity killed the cat,' she reminded herself, before shrugging, 'Well, it's pretty lucky I'm not a cat then, isn't it?'

"…love what you've done with the place, Claire, I really do!" a shrill voice trilled, which she assumed was Mrs. Brodereck's.

"Why thank you, Bernice, I decorated it myself," Mrs. Sheldon replied, "Where did that handsome son of yours get to?"

"Oh, I suspect he's visiting the female servants' quarters," Willow noticed a note of disgust in her voice.

"Well, let him know he is welcome to any one of them."

'Bitch,' she screamed in her mind, straining to hear more.

"I'm sure he already thinks he is!" the woman giggled, but then her voice turned serious, "Speaking of Gordon, he mentioned the other day that he saw William in the company of a woman, a very beautiful woman as I understand it."

"Oh, did he?" She could practically see the wheels turning in Mrs. Sheldon's head.

"Yes. In fact, he said they looked quite intimate…This won't…in any way…"

"Of course not, Bernice, you know how men are, needing to sow their wild oats…No, the little tramp is a passing fancy, nothing more."

"Oh, good," Mrs. Brodereck sounded relieved, "Because I'd hate…"

"It's not polite to eavesdrop, young lady."

Willow nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun around, coming face to face with Clarence Sheldon: William's dad. He looked slightly ruffled, and she blushed at the reasons why that could be, but she tried not to think about it.

"I know," she replied, trying to get by him, "Sorry, sir."

He stepped smartly in front of her, "That's very naughty of you, Miss Willow, very naughty indeed."

She felt unnerved by his calm words and hard stare, but she didn't look away, "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Sheldon, I'm going to bed."

"Like some company?" he asked bluntly.

She was taken aback by his blatancy, but she did not show it. "William is expecting me." Willow said coolly.

He laughed, "Nonsense. He is with Gordon in the parlour…with two of the servant girls, I might add."

It felt like he had kicked her. "I don't believe you."

He laughed again, "Believe what you will, it doesn't change the facts."

Willow brushed by him, and he grabbed her behind. She whirled around, saying through gritted teeth, "I don't give a damn if your William's father, and I don't give a damn what William's doing…do not touch me."

Okay, she was lying about the 'what William was doing' thing. He couldn't be, could he? Not that it mattered to her. What ever William wanted to do was of his own affairs…but he wouldn't any way. This was William they were talking about. William the timid poet, he would never…would he?

"Ah love, your looks betray you," Mr. Sheldon said, stalking towards her.

At first she thought he knew she really cared about what William was doing with the two servant girls, but he was merely demonstrating his huge ego by thinking she actually wanted to touch him.

"Why? Are they saying: stay the hell away from me?"

He chuckled, moving closer. She took a nervous step back, preparing to run if need be, "No."

"I'm not kidding, I…"

He cut her off by pouncing, taking her completely by surprise and sending her sprawling to the floor. His body quickly covered hers and he was placing desperate kisses along her jaw and neck. 'This can't be happening,' she thought, frozen with shock for a few moments. When she finally attempted to wiggle out of his grasp he simply groaned, encouraging her to continue and she blushed in self-disgust.

"Get off me!" she hissed, not wanting to be caught in this position, "You sick bastard, get your filthy hands off…" His hand squeezed her breast, and it was so disgustingly wrong she lost all control, "Get off!" she screamed, thrashing about. "Get off Get off Get OFF!"

He silenced her with a kiss, and she couldn't help compare it to William's. Unlike the sweet poet, whose kiss was gentle and full of so much longing that she thought it might very well make her faint, his father's kiss was nothing but brutal and desperate. She used this distraction to throw him off her, spitting her saliva, and some of his, right into his face. He stood shocked for a moment, and she used this to run, but his stronger muscles made her easy prey and he landed on her heavily, temporarily winding her.

"Feisty. Just the way I like 'em," he growled, resuming his assault on her neck and breasts.

She continued to fight. Where was everyone? Why was nobody helping her? She mustered all her strength and let out a blood-curdling scream. Before it could reach its crescendo, he clamped his hand over her mouth, but she just bit into it until blood was covering her lips. He cursed and she drew back her fist, before punching him squarely in the jaw.

He went limp, and she began crying, just as William, Gordon, Mrs. Brodereck, and Mrs. Sheldon burst in. Mrs. Sheldon took in her unconscious husband, Willow's torn dress, and the blood on Willow's mouth and let out a high-pitched shriek, falling into Gordon's arms.

"A demon child!" She pointed wildly at the sobbing Willow, "There is a demon child in my home!"

Willow looked at William through clouded eyes, but she found him looking at her with nothing but contempt. She rose shakily to her feet, stumbling slightly, before running to her bedroom.

He came in, and she regarded him blankly, "You have to take leave," William said quietly.

She nodded, "I know."

"You're welcome to stay the night…"

"I will; thank you."

He stared at her with something akin to sorrow, but she met his gaze with a glare and he glared back, "Goodnight, Miss Bloodeneen," he snapped, slamming the door as he left.

"Goodnight, William."


	4. Chapter 4

See Chapter 1 for warnings etc.

**Chapters X to XII**

* * *

**Part X**

May 1st, 1880.

Willow pushed open the swing-door, only to be confronted by her very angry boss, "Yar' late, Willow," he growled, following her as she slipped past him.

"I know, Mickey, I'm sorry." She grabbed her apron from the hook and tied it efficiently around her tiny waist.

"Don't Mickey me, Willow, this is the third day in a row. Don't make me…"

"What? Fire me?" she asked playfully, looking up at him through her eyelashes and pouting. His gloomy façade melted and he threw her a small grin.

"Aright, luv, jez' try make it on time, will ya?"

"Sorry, it won't happen again," she said truthfully. She had finally finalised her travel plans to go to France where the next slayer was but a week away from being picked. Her only hope was to convince the slayer to kill Spike and Drusilla a few years before they go to America. According to the Watcher Journals, however, she was to be beheaded by an unknown Order within four years and replaced by a slayer known as Jiang Li in China. This was not a very well thought out plan, but her current state of affairs left little room for other options. She could thank Spike for that.

It had been quite awhile since she left the Sheldon manor, and she couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow every time she thought about William. Her dear, sweet William, who threw, what could have been a defenceless Willow out onto the street without a second thought. Little did he know, she had enough money to travel and keep her well off for quite a few weeks from the earrings she sold.

"Don't go," Marie had said, hugging the little woman unabashedly, "William doesn't know what he's talking about, he-he's…"

Willow hugged her just as tightly, "It's okay, Marie, I'll get by." A sudden thought came to her, and she dug around inside the closet where she had once kept her things. She found what she was looking for, and handed it to Marie with a smile. "Here, give this to William, I-I forgot."

Marie had studied the journal with glistening eyes, and turned those eyes to Willow, "You give it to him, maybe he'll…"

"I don't want to talk to him," she said honestly, "and what am I going to do with a journal that says 'William's Journal'? Become a man?"

The joke was feeble, but it made Marie chuckle slightly, "He'll miss you, you know."

She had nodded, picking up her small bag; "I know…who wouldn't?"

Willow came back to the present as she reached the counter and was greeted with a series of wolf-whistles and jeers.

"Late again, Wills?" a red nosed Terrie laughed, "You screwin' 'round behind our backs?" There was a raucous laughter that Willow forced herself to join in at the risk of being questioned.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Terrance?" she replied provocatively.

"Cor, you know bloody well I would!" More laughter.

Honestly? She didn't mind working here. Over the last four years she had built up immunity to drunkards. Switching from pub to pub to stop people from noticing she hadn't aged had not taken its toll as she thought it might have. Merely kept her sane with the variety of it all.

"I'll 'ave the usual," a small fat man named Norm panted, sliding onto a stool.

"No problem," she said smoothly, pouring him a thick beer that frothed a little over the rim when she handed it to him. He purposely brushed his fingers against hers, but she just rolled her eyes.

"You have a wife at home, Norm, stop fooling around." Willow chided, taking another order and filling it.

"Who sez I was foolin'? 'Sides, you're much prettier than her," he laughed, swigging his pint.

"You seein' anyone lately, Wills?" a dark haired youth who reminded her of Xander chimed in. He really thought he had the most chance with her because she favoured him. He had no idea his resemblance of her friend was the real reason for her extra kindness.

"Yeah, I am Harry. I'm seeing you, sitting there annoying me. Now scoot…gotta make room for the paying customers."

"Hey, I'm payin' I'm payin," he said defensively, tossing a couple of pennies on the counter, "So, are ya seein' anyone?"

"No, happy to say."

"Ah, I knew it!" Harry shouted, banging his fist on the counter, "Betcha your cherry havn' even been plucked!"

"Yeah, an' you ain' pluckin' it, Harry!" George, an old regular who had no incentive to get into her pants, said snidely.

"Do you mind?" she said, rolling her eyes, "I'm right here!"

The bar wasn't busy for the time being, so Willow sat on a stool in the corner and pulled a large, scruffy book from her apron and letting it fall open to the page it always did. "My Helen," she sighed, reading the familiar poem again, tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

"Oi, Wills, you thinkin' 'bout that lad of yers again?" An Irish customer asked, leaning over the counter.

"I told you before, Conan, there is no 'lad'," she lied, tucking away the book.

"What ever you say, girl," he winked, "but I know a lass in heartbreak, and you are one of them."

"Shush, I just…never you mind, Conan, this isn't any of your business."

"Ah, come on, Wills, tell us 'bout yerself. You're a closed book, is what y'are," Harry moaned, leaning over the counter to fill up his mug.

"Hey, no freebies! Show me the penny, and I'll get your grog," she pointed an accusing finger at him, "You snuck out the other night without paying."

"Did not! Anyways, yer jez tryin' t'get outta tellin' us yer story," he said hastily, relieved when everyone turned their attention back to Willow. The redhead blushed and filled up a mug roughly.

"That's 'cause there's no story to tell. Now shut your mouth and drink up," she snapped, slamming his beer on the counter, some of it sloshed over the sides.

"Hey, I ain't payin' full price for…"

"Ah, shut up. You never pay any price," she retorted.

They went through the night in a similar way, exchanging insults, banter, and jokes among each other. By the end of her shifts, her cheeks were usually aching from real and forced smiles. Mostly forced. None of the guys, wherever she worked, seemed to get the clue that she just wasn't interested, they all reminded Willow of too many 'him' guys. Oz, Percy, Xander, Spike, Mr Sheldon… William. Too many guys who'd hurt her. But she was resolved. She wasn't going to get hurt again. Ever.

"Alright boys, closing time!" she bellowed to the bleary-eyed customers, who grumbled in disagreement.

"Gahhh, come on, Willss, s'early." Harry fell off his stool, "Woah, what 'appened?"

"Your getting kicked out, that's what happened." Willow tucked her arm under his, and as soon as he was at the door, she shoved him out of it. He stumbled, but he did not fall. "You know your way home?"

"Shure, it'sh passhed thoshe two shurches, right?"

"Right," she agreed, watching as the gentlemen trudged out. The said goodbye with a nod, a tip of their hats, or a 'night, miss,' for those who still had the power of speech. She shut the door, comforted by the silence that was soft on her ears, and greeted the girl on night shift, "G'night, Cal," she yawned, grabbing the tip jar from the counter and watched in sympathy as the large woman began sweeping up the bar.

"Nigh', Willow," she mumbled.

She went slowly up the stairs to her rented room, but not before she said goodnight to her boss, "Night, Mickey."

He stretched, "Night luv…when's yer big trip?"

"Couple of weeks, yet," she sighed, leaving before they got into a huge conversation about it again. She settled in her small room, cluttered with books, clothes, and boxes. She took a small box from under her bed and emptied all the coins into, they jangled merrily against each other as she closed the box and returned it to it's hiding spot.

"Soon, Willow," she muttered to herself, her eyes drooping, "It'll be over soon."

"Daddy," Drusilla whined, clinging to Angelus' arm as they strolled down the dark street, "When can we make me a special baby?"

"Not for a while yet, sweets. Darla says to wait for the Hour of the Hora."

"Don't talk about me as if I weren't here!" Darla snapped, digging her nails into Angelus' other arm, "She knows she has to wait, why does she keep babbling?"

"What can I say, she's eager," He patted Drusilla on the head, and his childe preened while his sire fumed.

"May we go hunting?" Drusilla asked, her eyes scanning the huge mansion they were about to go into. She and Darla smoothed out their ball gowns simultaneously. "I was thinking of eating that pretty, small Brodereck man."

"Gordon Brodereck?" Angelus said incredulously, "You want that smarmy git to be your childe?"

"No, silly," she giggled, "Gordon's like a hot air balloon, up…up…up, he's not my word-knight."

"Of course," Darla said sarcastically to Drusilla, then she turned to Angelus, "Tell her again Angelus, I think she's forgotten."

He shrugged. "Dru, remember, you're a deaf mute, no talking."

"Yes daddy," she said, just as they approached the man checking invitations.

"Angelus!" the man boomed, barely glancing at the invitations the vampire presented, "And Darla, Drusilla, how are you all?"

"Fine, Miles, just fine," he replied, walking past him into the crowded ballroom.

"Oh, look dear, it's the Reese family," Mrs. Sheldon whispered to her son. He ignored her and kept on leaning against the wall. "See the black-haired one? They say she went insane and can't hear or speak now. Isn't that just awful?" she continued. William grunted and slipped away, wanting desperately to disappear.

"Drusilla honey, go wander around for a bit. Try work up a bit of sympathy for us will you?" Darla said, cuddling up close to her childe.

She nodded, but didn't talk, then weaved her way through the crowd. Drusilla was bored, her daddy and grandmother always insisted they go to these silly parties, and she was never allowed to talk, or feed. She really didn't see the point of them. The insane vampire gasped as she saw a man, edging slowly towards a door that led outside. She was struck with a feeling of recognition, but she knew she had never seen that beautiful face before. He was delicious, positively edible. He reeked of male power, but also innocence, with a drop of self-hatred added for flavour. She growled, although unintelligibly to those around her.

'Well, maybe mummy will just dip her paws in the cream,' she thought, making a move to follow him as he finally made it out the door.

William looked across the pages, which were once empty but were now filled with poems, thoughts, and little sketches. He let his fingers glide over the gold writing on the front that proclaimed it to be 'William's Journal' and read a poem aloud, trying to get the feel of it.

"I stop and wonder, where are you going?

Your gaze so determined, your stride not slowing,

Your hair alight behind you, a flame licking at your ears,

I can see you're crying, but I cannot see your tears.

I wish I could read you, like the books within my hand,

But you are closed, your pages hidden, and…"

He spun around, but faced nothing but shadow, "Who's there?"

"It is only I, fair prince," Drusilla said, approaching him with a demure look on her face, "Your words are like music to my ears."

This woman disturbed him, but he couldn't deny that she intrigued him too. Wasn't she that man…Angelus' sister who was a deaf mute? "My lady, are you lost?"

"In your words, I am."

He blushed when he realised she had heard him, and he tucked the journal into his coat preparing a hasty exit, "If you'll excuse me…"

"Where are you going?" she asked politely, before sniffing, "you're going somewhere without me…"

"Erm, France, actually. Now, ma'am, please excuse…"

"You are missing someone…" Drusilla said dreamily, stepping closer, "A girl."

He froze, turning to face her with undisguised surprise, "How did you…"

She giggled, "Silly, beautiful prince…In your words, your longing resides, it waits like a bird, ready to fly far away…But, no matter, you will become a childe again and play with allll your toys."

William was back to being scared, this woman obviously needed help, and if Willow had taught him anything, it was to think with his heart, rather than with his head. He regarded her kindly, trying not to let his fear show. "Madam, you are obviously in need of assistance, allow me to escort you to your brother…"

She laughed madly, "He is not my brother, he is my daddy!"

His brow furrowed, "Your daddy? But I thought…"

"Dru?" a voice barked. The voice belonged to a man, he was tall and well built and had an air about him that screamed danger. His dark eyes were searching until he laid them on the mad woman. Then, they slid to William and his mouth twisted in a smirk.

"Well, well…What do we have here?"

"This is William. He is going to be my…" she whispered the rest in his ear, and no matter how close he leaned, William couldn't understand a word being said.

"…My childe."

"Him?" Angelus sniffed deeply, "He stinks of heartache…looks like a ponce to me."

She smacked him on the arm. "He speaks like a dictionary, and his innocence colours the air, can you not see it?" Angelus nodded reluctantly, so she continued, "And such a beautiful face…I could imagine many nights with him between my legs, writhing around like a snake…He will be a powerful asset. I can feel it."

"If you say so," he shrugged, studying the man's undeniably confused but handsome face, "But remember, you must wait 'till the Hour of the Hora, or Darla'll have you staked."

"I know what causes his heartache," Drusilla said suddenly, her eyes clouded over, "I want her to be his first meal…but it's dark around her, I don't…"

Drusilla collapsed in his arms, and William despite witnessing a very intense conversation, seemingly about him, rushed forward to help. "Is she alright?"

Angelus hoisted Drusilla into his arms as if she weighed no more than a rag doll, and gave William a once-over before grinning evilly. "I reckon you'll do just fine," he said smoothly, carrying his unconscious childe to their carriage with a very pissed Darla in tow.

**Part XI**

Willow looked out the window and realised she was almost there. She could see a town-like area as they rolled over the hill, and just hoped they were near La Meilleure Barre. It was a popular, rather sophisticated pub and restaurant that Mickey had recommended. Although she had only come there to "save" Spike (or kill him, rather), she still needed a place to stay and food to eat. And her former boss had told her that the owner was a nice guy who would hire her, for her looks and for her experience.

Willow slipped off the carriage, thanked the driver, handed him several coins and bade him farewell as he trotted off into the horizon. Willow turned her eyes to the sunlight, squinting and shielding her face. It was around midday and surprisingly hot, especially in the dress that weighed more than her suitcase. She grunted as she began walking, her heels clicking steadily over the noise of the crowd.

"Excuse me," she said to a nearby stranger in passable French, "But do you know where 'La Meilleure Barre?'"

He smiled good-naturedly, "Why? Looking for work?"

"Maybe," she said haltingly. She wasn't fooled by his attitude. Sure, he seemed nice, but even vampires could smile "Why do you care?"

"I own it," he replied simply, his expression not changing.

"Oh, well then yes, I am," she answered, successfully fighting the blush that was working its way up her neck.

He was looking her up and down in that way she hated, so she cleared her throat, "So, can you hire me?"

"Can you work nights?" he asked, ignoring her attempt to catch his attention.

"Yes," she was pissed at him, but she really did need the work and wasn't going to risk this chance because of her stubborn pride.

"Can you change your attitude?" he asked suddenly, surprising her.

She blinked, then said haughtily, "No."

He grinned, "Good. Start tonight."

"Wait," she said, side-stepping in front of him, "Do you have a room to spare?"

"No. Does that bother you?"

"Yes," she answered truthfully.

"Then I do. You'll be expected to work from six till twelve, breaks if you can find the time, at ten shillings a night…"

"Fifteen," Willow corrected, and his smile widened.

"Twelve, three shillings for the room," he bargained.

"Done," she smiled, holding out her hand for him to shake. Willow could get used to this man as her boss. He was way better looking than Mickey, although he was still around the same age, judging by the way that his face creased when he talked. But he seemed a nice enough guy, although she sensed he wouldn't be as lenient with her as Mickey was.

He shook it, then added, "I'll see you tonight Miss…?"

"Bloodeneen," she supplied, "Willow Bloodeneen."

He looked as if he were pondering for a moment, "Bloodeneen," he echoed, "I like it. It suits you."

"So I've been told," she said grimly. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question, but she just shook her head, so he moved on.

"My name is Thomas."

"Thomas who?" she mimicked, though not cruelly.

"Thomas Dick."

"Dick." She grinned evilly, "I like it. It suits you."

Willow was already getting into her new job. There were a few more snobs here than there were in Birmingham, but most were well spoken, educated, well-dressed fellows who were delighted at a little mental stimulation from a member of the opposite sex.

"So, the recent murders, what do you think, Willow? A madman?" The Count Merchânt asked, sipping his sherry thoughtfully.

"Oh, you shouldn't concern yourselves with those types of things. That's what the police are for."

"Too true, Mademoiselle," he agreed, "Could I have another? I'm expecting a lady friend to drop by…a little strange, but definitely some delicious eye-candy!"

Willow laughed at the reference, and went to fill out his order. She especially liked it when her boss, Thomas, asked her to read him poetry. He would respond so enthusiastically to it that she was reminded strongly of William, and she would be happy for a little while.

"Willow!" her boss shouted, gesturing to her frantically. He had obviously taken up that offer to drink with his friends, she thought wryly, handing The Count his drink with a nod and making her way over to Thomas' table.

"Willow!" he repeated, "What's that poem? Do that poem…"

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, not again! I'm not going to let you parade me in front of your friends like some kind of oddity!"

They always went through this. He would brag to his friends about her, make her out to be some kind of live-in lover of his. She would then have to set them all straight, and send an apologetic Thomas to bed with a sore ear. They put up with each other though, she entertained him and he paid her well.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I think Philippe is trying to get my attention," she said, referring to the cook, who was nowhere in sight. She pushed open the swing door to the kitchen, sighing in relief as she set down the empty tray. Willow missed her old tavern; it was so much easier to talk to chauvinistic cretins than these strange eccentrics!

"Heya, Willy…'urry up! Gotta table wi' yer name on it…'bout free guys, pretty snobbish lookin.'"

Willow groaned, "First of all, don't call me that. Second of all, how snobbish? On a scale of ten to one…ten being 'my god, get that pole outta my derriere!'"

Phil chuckled, "I'm thinkin'…eight?"

She groaned again, "Great, why can't Robbie do it?"

He tutted, "Rob's in bed with the flu, remember?"

"Am I getting paid extra?"

He winked, "Depends on what ya do for 'em."

"You're a sick man, Phil."

"Ah know, an' ya love it!"

She rolled her eyes and grabbed the two plates from his outstretched hands, using her elbows to shove her way out of the cramped kitchen. She scanned the room, grimacing slightly as her eyes ran over Thomas' table, and all of them collapsed in raucous laughter. Her eyes then fell on a table with three stiff looking gents, well, two of them were anyway, the others covered the third and all she could see was a mop of curly brown hair.

"Bonjour. Only two of you eating?" she asked politely, studying the food to determine what it was, "I have one braised chicken with fennel sauce and a fillet mignon, extra onions, no gravy, extra…"

"Willow?"

It was lucky she had put down the plates before she looked up, because she had no doubt in her mind they would already be shattered all over the floor.

"William?" she whispered, fully aware of how pale her face was.

He'd changed. Gone was the innocent, child-like William she once knew and in his place was a sullen…man. 'Did he stop washing when she left?' she wondered scornfully, secretly liking his rugged appearance. His bright eyes were dark as they studied her. She wished she had the power to read him like she used to, but he was different.

She hadn't changed a bit. Her skin was still smooth, her eyes still bright and her long, and her limbs were still long and bird-like under her barmaid's dress.

"You work as a waitress?" he asked in English. He didn't mean to, and somehow he knew it would make her angry, but he couldn't help the sympathy that crept into his voice. He could feel guilt choking him, like bile in his throat that left him with a bitter aftertaste.

She snapped out of her trance and her eyes narrowed. The redhead clutched the tray to her side and stuck out her chest proudly. "Don't take that tone with me, William, waitressing is a perfectly respectable profession!"

"I'll say," Gordon Brodereck breathed, eyeing the chest she so nobly held high. She didn't shrink away or blush as he thought she would do, but her mouth twisted in an amused sneer.

"As if," she scoffed, disregarding the handsome aristocrat immediately. "So, what're you doing here William? Did you come all the way from London to get me fired?"

She knew it was unreasonable, but she just held so much emotion for this one man. And seeing him again was enough to either make her want to cry, laugh, or throw up, and she was literally swallowing the urge to do all of them.

He blinked, "N-No, I…"

She snorted in a mocking tone, "Same old William. Still writing poetry?"

"Yes as a matter of fact," he glowered, "I'm writing a new piece about a girl who breaks her friend's trust by fornicating with his father…"

She laughed coldly, "Yes, because that's exactly what happened, isn't it? No questions asked, just trash that mummy spewed in your ear. You lapped it up, didn't you? Not even bothering to talk to me about it, just folding under everyone else's opinions like a whipped little boy." She gave Gordon a little backhanded slap on the shoulder, "I bet he was one of the first people to get to you, even though we both know he's the biggest prig in London."

"Hey…" Gordon protested feebly.

"Shut up. Just… Just leave me alone, William. Don't come back here," she finished, before storming off into the kitchen.

"God!" Harry said indignantly, his eyes following angry redhead as she shoved her way into the other room.

"I know," William said hoarsely, his eyes clouded, "She is magnificent."

The others nodded, and William felt a tightening in his stomach. 'I love her,' he admitted to himself, thinking of the beautiful poet with a fond anger.

'I love him,' Willow realised, leaning on a wall 'Bastard! It's all his fault!'

"Look at them, daddy, aren't they pretty?" Drusilla cooed, moving her fingers from side to side over her swollen clitoris as she observed the squabbling humans hungrily.

"I don't know about the feller, but I'd love to have that redhead. She's a juicy bit, isn't she?"

"Don't make love to her! She's not yours, she's my baby's!" Drusilla protested, digging little cuts in her thighs with her pointed nails.

He looked at her disapprovingly, "Dru, stop gropin' yerself in the middle of the pub. And who said anything about making love to her? I'm talkin' about fucking her!"

"No! Wrong, wrong, wrong…" she clutched her head and shook, muttering 'wrong' over and over again. Pub goers watched the insane woman in interest. That is, until Angelus fixed them with an angry stare, his eyes flashing gold.

"Aw, stop yer crazy ramblings, Dru, I won't lay a finger on her," he said soothingly, stroking her head. She looked up and fixed him with a happy grin, but sadly it was through her vampire face. "For hell's sake, Dru, put away your face!" he snarled, feeling his own coming near the surface.

She whimpered and hid it quickly, looking down at her lap. A few seconds later, she looked back up, her face delighted, as if she had just woken up with a two-month old baby under her nostrils, "I can't wait for the hour, my womb will open and out pops William. And we will dance with Willow's blood…"

"How did you find out her name?" Angelus asked sharply, and she giggled.

"The stars," she whispered, as if it was some huge conspiracy, "She is also like hands that go roooound, but she is backwards. The numbers aren't happy with her, they're all wonky and…"

He tuned out as she continued babbling to watch the redhead, and her beautiful bust, as she walked angrily away from his future grandchilde. Why didn't they just take her? She was a lot prettier than William, and hell, that arse…

"Why do you want him?" He jerked his thumb roughly in the direction of William, "I mean, I know he's strong, smart, good-looking, innocent…"

"Oh no," she said, clapping her hands, "Red will make innocentless!"

"Then why don't we eat her?" Angelus complained, hating that he wasn't in control.

She smiled dreamily, "Because, daddy dearest, she will send him to us. She'll bring my baby home."

**Part XII**

Willow tried to get a better look at the dark, evil, and scarily familiar people who sat in the corner. She wanted to take the casual approach and ask them if they wanted anything, allowing her to get a better look at their faces. But she didn't have the gall to go back out there after her "little" tiff with William until somebody really needed something, and by that time, the couple was gone.

"Ah Willow," Thomas said, holding a hand to his head, "Can I have a glass of water? I don't feel like a headache in the morning."

"Sure," she replied, happy with the distraction.

He pressed the cool water to his dry lips and finished the whole glass in three gulps, "Gaaah," he sighed, smacking his lips, "That's better. Can I have a poem?"

She rolled her eyes, "Fine. What one would you like?"

"My Helen!" he said eagerly, leaning forwards.

She looked quickly to William to find him looking at them curiously. He had heard, but he could not pinpoint what exactly he was remembering. She cleared her throat and recited the piece that was achingly familiar to her:

"C—Helen, thy beauty is to me,

Like those Nicean barks of yore,

That gently, over a perfumed sea,

The weary, wayworn wanderer bore,

To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home,

To the glory that was Greece,

And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! In yon brilliant window-niche,

How statue-like I see thee stand the agate lamp within thy hand!

Ah, Psyche, from the regions, which are Holy Land."

The still partly intoxicated Thomas clapped in glee, and Willow's sneaky gaze slid to William, who was looking very angry in pale in his seat. She grinned in satisfaction That'll teach that smarmy git to be so…lovable! Unexpectedly, Thomas grabbed her from over the counter. She yelped in surprise and out of the corner of her eye, she saw William rise, so she played along.

"Hey, get off me!" she was actually quite serious, he never really went this far before. Usually it was just playful touching. "No hands!"

"Aw come on Willow, be a sport!" he complained, pulling her fully over the counter as to hold her fully against his body. She felt something poking in her back and froze, getting flashbacks of William's dad touching her…kissing her…

"Get off!" she squeaked, distressed as all the self-defense moves fell from her mind. He just laughed harder and began groping her more. She looked around wildly, the men just cheered while the women kept themselves to themselves politely. "I-I'm not kidding, stop it!"

She was nearing hysterics, he could tell. He saw the familiar nervous darting of her eyes and the quivering of her body. And suddenly, she was Willow again.

"Hey, she said get off, are you deaf?" William demanded, causing a cliched silence to fall over the crowd, "Let her go," he said, more quietly.

The drunk man just sneered at him, "Mind your own business, will you?"

Thomas moved his head down to kiss her, and her eyes widened in fear. But a hand stopped him, and he faced William again, annoyed anger in his eyes.

"Listen, you disgusting piece of filth. She is my business." With that, he sent a hard right hook straight into the man's jaw. He sailed back, almost taking Willow with him, were it not for William grabbing her and holding her securely around the waist.

Without waiting for an awkward aftermath, he dragged a still stunned Willow outside into the night. Shaking her head, she struggled out of his grip.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, "I could have handled that myself!"

He gave an exaggerated cough, "Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, I was just thrown off by your whole 'frozen in fear' act."

"Shut up!" she screamed, pounding her fists into him, "Shut up shut up shut up!"

He didn't understand. He didn't understand how useless she felt when men hurt you, and you couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't possibly understand the fear of knowing that no matter how hard you tried, you'd always be the weaker sex. What she had learned while being in the past, without the guns, without the knives, without the stakes to confuse everything, she was still a little girl, and that didn't mean shit to anyone.

"Shut up!" she moaned, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, "You don't get it…I was so helpless, I could have fought him…I was scared…and it's all your fault!"

He was taken aback by this show of emotions, she looked so cold in the tavern, but in the night, outside the protective shield of the bright lights, she was still Willow, still the little girl he knocked unconscious on the first day they met.

"My fault?"

"Yes!" she shouted, covering her face, "First your father tried to rape me and you fucked it up by taking away the only good thing I had since I came here!"

Her voice was muffled, but he heard what she said, "What?"

She looked at him, her wet and shining, "You."

He froze, and she made an exasperated noise, "Me?"

"Yes you, with your-your sweetness, and your kindness, and the way your always listened to me…you're the first man who's ever…not had another motive, just content in being with me…god, why do you think I became a lesbian?"

He blinked, "A what?"

"It doesn't matter. I wanted you to stick with me, I wanted you to write more poetry with me, I wanted to go with the ball you…"

He pulled her to him, his gaze searching. Her eyes were wide, like coals that shone. Reflecting a strength, but also a vulnerability that was heart-breaking. He wasn't thinking, he was doing, he was feeling…

She swayed closer to him, hugging him as she did that day by the frozen river. Only now, she was giving him what he had wanted, and what she had wanted so badly too. His tongue traced the outline of her lips, causing the highly sensitive flesh to tingle. He was so warm, so warm…god, how she missed warmth, she wanted more. Her arms slid around his neck and she opened her mouth wider, urging him to deepen the kiss. He did, though tentatively, but she relished in the fulfilment it gave her.

He dared not close his eyes, lest she disappear. But when her tongue met his, he sighed and let his lids drift shut, content that she was here and they were really doing this. He marvelled at how soft she still was as his wrapped his arms about her waist and pulled her closer to him. His hands massaged unconscious circles over her lower back and she shivered, pressing closer to his angular body.

Her tongue flicked over the roof of his mouth and he made a small noise at the back of his throat, but this soon became a tight pressure and he realised he was out of air, and so she must be too. He broke away, pressing his forehead to hers. Willow shivered again at the loss of contact, but she gasped in some much-needed air. They hugged each other closely, and Willow's fingers buried themselves deep into his hair. He had been itching to do the same, so allowed his fingers to run over the base of her neck before brushing them over her sensitive scalp.

"Your hair," he murmured, "so like flames, I can imagine burning slowly in…"

She fisted his hair and brought his lips back to hers, letting their tongues rejoin in eager exploration, leaving no part of the others mouth untouched. Shudders ran down her spin as he massaged her lower back, his nails occasionally scratching lightly over the skin. Soon, way too soon, they were out of breath again. But, this time, he followed his instincts and his head dipped to place a soft kiss below her chin. She made a sharp, breathy noise and this encouraged William, and also mad his pants seem a little too tight.

He continued placing butterfly-light kiss along her neck, occasionally letting his tongue dart out or grazing his teeth.

"You. Taste. So. Good." He whispered between kisses, the wispiness of lips giving her goosebumps.

"Uh, Sir?"

His head flew up and he saw the carriage driver, looking a little embarrassed. He was too happy to feel that way himself, and he smiled. He grabbed Willow's hand and led her towards the carriage, but only when he received an approving nod. He guided her up the short steps and into the pitch-blackness, before climbing in himself. She let him sit before slipping onto his lap, facing him.

Willow kissed his closed lids, then his nose, which she bit gently. His hands came out of nowhere to cup her face. But he did not pull her in to kiss her, he just touched. His fingers brushing over her nose and lips, memorising each detail in his mind's eye. They did not notice that the carriage had started moving as the pads of his fingers drifted over her eyes.

William let his lips brush over hers once again and gripping her gently by the back of the neck, holding her to him. But she wasn't going anywhere. Their kiss had deepened, growing more and more passionate with every languid ministration, every whispered word, every breathless pant. She felt a hardness beneath her, and without thought, she pressed down hard on it.

William groaned, breaking away from her mouth. He clutched at her ribcage and then buried his face in the crook of her neck. She gasped, then moaned as he licked gently then bit gluttonously. Willow let her head fall to the side, exposing the long white column to him fully. He nibbled softly on her ear lobe, then kissed the sensitive patch behind her ear. She keened as he worked his way over her third favourite erogenous zone. Suddenly, his hands flew up to her breasts and squeezed, gliding his thumb over her nipples. They tightened and she gave a loud gasp, arching into him.

He moved back, his barely visible eyes scared, "I-I-I'm sorry, I didn't…"

She covered her mouth with his again, and moved away just enough so their lips still touched. Just barely. "I gave myself to him, and took himself for pay. The solemn contract of a life, was ratified this way," she recited. Her voice was slightly lispy, but they grinned simultaneously. William began massaging her breasts again, but not before their deep kissing was resumed with desperation.

The carriage jolted to a stop outside the Whitam manor, and Willow leaped of William. And, like a pair of giggling adolescents, they leaped off the carriage, hand-in-hand. Willow stumbled over her dress a few times, and William was quick to rectify that by swooping her up into his arms as he ran wildly to his bedroom, both laughing happily and sneaking quick kisses that made William's knees sag.

They reached his room, and Willow was quick to close the door behind her, and she turned to find William staring at her, smiling softly. The mood was once again sultry and William moved forward, his hands moving to the thankfully front corset. But he paused.

"May I?" he asked, studying her face.

Willow met his gaze, "For tonight, this," she gestured to her body, "is yours. And tomorrow, and more…if you'll let me."

She was so sure of her words it scared her, but she knew they were true. And William seemed to know, too. He looked embarrassed, happy, confused, but most of all, aroused by the words uttered by the woman who had not left his thoughts since he met her. "Let you? Of course I'll bloody let you, you silly woman!"

He picked her up and swung her around, amused by her squeal of delight, and then he lay her flat on the bed. He straddled her, although with some care, and his trembling fingers moved to the laces at the front of her dress. Willow watched as his relaxed face hardened, and she looked down to the object of his vision. The pendant.

"William…I didn't want you to…"

He pressed a finger to her lips, "I know…do not think about it, let me just be here with you."

She was touched by his caring innocence, so she raised one hand to cup his face, her thumb stroking his cheekbone. He responded to this by undoing her laces with more self-assurance. Then, he kissed her palm, "They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes over me... Why art thou so dear?"

He undressed her with a gentleness and care that brought tears to her eyes, and soon he was tugging off the last of her clothing. He sat over her, still fully clothed. She was panting and brilliantly flushed, but her eyes were so intense he had to fight not to look away. William could tell she was growing uncomfortable from his lustful stare, so he smiled softly and leaned forward to take her mouth in a slow kiss. While his mouth was busy with hers, he allowed his hands to wander over her bare flesh, wincing as he came in contact with the cold metal. How could skin be so soft? He wondered, pinching her nipple gently.

Willow parted her legs so William lay between them, his pelvis resting against the wet cradle of her thighs that was slowly getting wetter. He pulled back, only to place a wet kiss on her collarbone, and move slowly in the direction of her solar plexus. He saw the metallic glimmer in the darkness, wanting so much to tear the possessive trademark from her beautiful body. She raised her hips, making him groan into the skin of her left breast and she groaned before crying out as his lips closed over her tight nipple. Her breathing came out sharper, and she entwined her fingers into his hair, pushing him closer as he moved to her right breast.

She made a noise of protest when his mouth returned to neither of them. But that soon became a sigh as he began to kiss downwards. He placed feather-light kisses along the flat plain of her stomach, relishing in the sweet taste of her, "Whenas in silks my Willow goes, then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows, the liquefaction of her clothes…Or lack thereof!" he added, smiling into her skin.

"William!" she breathed, "I never new you were such a-ah!"

He placed an open-mouthed kiss on her wet folds, pushing his tongue into the opening and tasting her for the first time. He moaned and the sweetness and began lick hungrily, forcing his tongue in deeper and letting more pour onto his face. She screamed a little as the vibrations echoed through her channel, making her twitch. His nose nuzzled the tiny bundle of nerves and she laughed and screamed at the same time.

"Oh, his mouth, l-l-like the waves breaking at the shore" Every second word was a moan, and the last part a yelp as she began to shake.

Willow dragged him to her, their mouths colliding hungrily. She tasted herself on him, musky and sweet. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed up into his erection, rising a guttural moan from his throat that reverberated down her to her toes. Her fingers worked frantically with the buttons of his jacket and waistcoat, and although she fumbled clumsily, she managed to get each black button undone. He raised to help her remove the garments and she tossed them carelessly to the side.

Having no patience with the tiny white buttons of his dress shirt, she untucked from his pants and promptly tore it down the front. He was far from complaining as he threw the shirt aside, now revelling in the glorious feeling of her nails combing down his chest. She watched in wonder as the muscles stirred beneath her fingertips. He didn't really look muscular with those clothes on, but with his shirt off he was positively sinful.

Her hands drifted to his belly, and she began to thoughtfully undo his pants. He supported himself up on his arms and looked at her seriously, "Are you having doubts?"

She smiled wickedly, "Just wondering if you're as big as I imagined."

"Big as…oh." He blushed and she almost laughed. _Now_ he blushes? He was too cute.

She finished undoing his pants with relative ease, which was a surprise because her hands were shaking like mad. He tugged them down the rest of the way, and she stared. And stared. And stared. My god, Cecily is an idiot, she thought. Biting her lip, she held it in her firm grip and watched in awe as his face contorted beautifully in pleasure.

"Willow, oh god, Willow…" he moaned, moving against her hand as she began to stroke him, but then stopping quickly, "No Willow, I want…"

"Me too," she whispered, using her hand to guide him to her wet heat. She splayed her legs open and he thrust inside. She gasped in pain, trying hard to accommodate his length, while Spike just stared at her in shock. "Have you ever…" she said, breathless and shaking.

He shook his head, "No…have you?"

"Yes…once." She blushed.

"It feels…nice," he said slowly, and Willow smiled before tightening her inner core around him. His eyes closed in that rapturous expression she loved and he instinctively moved out, and thrust into her again, a little deeper than before and she cried out while he moaned deeply. He dipped his head in to kiss her and she met it with enthusiasm, and they both began to rock against each other.

Her heels dug into his lower back as she raised her hips to meet him. He was a little unsteady at first but they managed to slip into a smooth rhythm that had them alternatively gasping and moaning in unison.

"William," she sighed, "Touch me…here." Willow guided his hand to her swollen clitoris, and he began to massage it gently. She threw her head back and screamed, moving more desperately against him. He was excited and encouraged by this, so his head dipped lower to the pendant that had disgusted him so, and licked at the sensitive flesh around it.

"Willow, you're so…gnugh, ohhhh…" He'd forgotten he was speaking as electricity started to build up in his stomach and he moved faster, "I don't know…"

"Don't worry," she managed, feeling like she was on fire, "Go with it…relax…"

"I…" his head shot up suddenly and he yelled out something similar to Willow's name as all his sexual tension drained from him in the most intense way. Nothing could be better than this, he thought, as he felt her quake below him.

His sudden orgasm made him pinch Willow's clitoris hard, and she raised off the bed as the friction made her whole body go hot and tingly then she felt herself explode in a shower of inky blackness and flashing lights.

"Look at me!" she demanded as they were climaxing, and he obliged. The simple gesture made them both cry out as they rode off their orgasms. They continued to look deep into each other's eyes as their movements stilled, gasping for air with him still buried deep inside her.

"That was…I…love you Willow," he said raggedly, burying his head in her neck.

"I love you too…so much." She hugged him tight, and he returned it.

"Say it again," he said in a whispered pleading.

Willow grinned, "I…love…you!"

He laughed and rolled off her, not letting go and holding her closer to his naked body. There were tears reflected in his eyes, but she pretended not to notice.

"G'night Will," she yawned, cuddling up close to him.

He just smiled, and answered; "O lady, hear me. For I have no other voice left..."

Her answer was her quiet breath, and William smiled softly, drifting into a dreamless sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

See Chapter 1 for warnings etc.

**Chapters XIII to XV**

* * *

**Part XIII**

Willow woke up with a definite 'what the hell' vibe. She was warm for one thing, she wasn't in a tiny, cluttered room and she appeared to be attached to a very hard male body. Looking up she saw William's chiselled face in a very relaxed state, wearing a small, contented smile. After getting over the initial shock and her lack of recollection, she calmed and continued to study him.

God, he was so…beautiful. How had she never noticed it before? She wanted desperately to reach out and stroke that impossibly defined cheekbone, but she was determined not to awaken him. He was so cute. His hair was scruffy and sticking out in odd directions, and he opened his mouth every few seconds to take in a wheezing breath. Remembering what that mouth had been doing the night before made her shiver and she moved closer to him. Willow felt him stir, and she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. She could have watched him like that forever.

His eyes fluttered open in an almost feminine way, and he also looked a little confused with his surroundings. His eyes then drifted to her and he jumped a little.

"Willow," he yawned, "G'mornin'."

"Good morning," she whispered, "Sleep well?"

He grinned, "No, actually. It was strange; I kept hearing this loud 'Gnnnughhhhhh!' right in my ear."

She opened her mouth indignantly and then raised herself up a little to slap him on the shoulder, "I do not snore!"

He simply laughed and returned her hit, but with a lot less power behind it, over her head. William was actually shocked at how the whole thing had not been some erotic dream his mind had come up with. But, looking at her now, her hair ruffled sexily and a playful laugh on her sensuous lips, he was ashamed of himself for even comparing Dream Willow to the real Willow who was now trying to hit him back.

"Say it. Say I don't snore!" she demanded, trying to hit him back, but finding he was too fast for her.

"Fine, fine. You don't snore…you sure do drool a lot though!"

She lunged at him, landing on his torso with a breathless 'oof.' She straddled his stomach and gave a triumphant smile, "Aha! Now you have no choice but to surrender to my…"

As fast as lightening, he grabbed both her arms and secured them behind her back, making her upper body fall against his as they bashed noses.

"Ow!" they both moaned, but still enjoying the feeling of their bare skins touching. Simultaneously, they moved in to kiss softly, closing their eyes and surrendering completely. She sighed softly and he let go of her hands, which she then used to massage his chest. They both groaned and Willow began moving his cock in and out of the juncture of her thighs. His head slammed into the pillow and Willow leaned over to suckle on his neck…just as Marie trotted in with a tray of breakfast.

"William, it's time for…Oh my goodness!" She dropped the tray with a smash and the noise startled the couple out of their incriminating position.

Willow let out a short scream and rolled off William, taking the blanket with her as to cover herself. Sadly, this left William very exposed and he yelped, snatching the cover off Willow and covering himself. She screamed again and grabbed it, but William held on tight as they both tried to pull it off the other person until William did a particularly strong tug and pulled Willow onto him with yet another scream, her weight overbalancing him, sending them both sprawling to the floor behind the bed and out of Marie's sight.

"I-I'll j-just g-go, I um…" The maid left quickly, and the couple burst out laughing. They stood up, neither conscious of their nakedness until the Marie came back in with a monster grin on her face. They both shrieked and ducked back down.

"Oh, Willow! I'm so glad you're back! I knew William would come to his senses…"

"Marie!" they shouted, both flushed bright red and crouching uncomfortably on the hard wooden floor.

"…I'm just so glad you've gotten together. You really make a great couple! I told you both before, but no…"

"Marie," Willow said calmly, "Please get out, we'll talk about this when William and I are, um, a little less…" she paused, "Naked?"

"Oh, of course! I'll have breakfast ready for you when you come down!" Marie said happily, skipping out of the room and completely ignoring the smashed crockery and ruined food on her way out. They stood up, hugged each other and collapsed on the bed laughing hysterically.

"Oh god!" Willow giggled, "I thought she'd never leave!"

"Who'd blame her, you have a nice body," he said smugly, leering at her body below him.

"Why, Mr. Sheldon, I do believe I have rubbed off on you!" she teased, gliding her fingernails over his chest.

"In more ways than one," he said in a smooth voice, letting his hand cup her breast and pinch the nipple. She moaned, but tried half-heartedly to fight him off.

"S-Stop," she gasped, "B-Breakfast!"

"You're my breakfast," he said, biting her breast gently then sucking hard. She raised her pelvis against his and he slipped inside of her. She cried out in shock, but soon they were rocking against each other, their heads thrown back in ecstasy.

Willow fought to keep awake as she read, determined to stay up later than six in the evening. But she had to grin at the reasons for her fatigue. William had confided to Willow once that all his life he had wanted to be touched, and it seemed he was making up for years without touch all at once. Whenever they were together he couldn't seem to keep his hands off her, and admittedly she couldn't either. She was always playing with his hair, straightening his clothes, or just stroking his back or leg or…other things.

"You really are beginning to sicken me!" Marie had exclaimed one time, but Willow noticed the maid had trouble wiping the happy grin off her face while she said it.

Willow frowned when the thought of going home crossed her mind. She didn't want to leave, but she knew she couldn't stay. She wanted to take him with her, but she knew that was impossible also. Right now though, all she wanted to do was be honest with him, to tell William anything and everything, but she knew she couldn't do that either.

As the day for his turning grew closer, her denial of the inevitable weakened. Often she'd find herself crying while nestled in William's arms after their lovemaking. He never knew why, but he didn't ask, only snuggled closer and stroked the silver pendant in her chest. It seemed to soothe her, but it was always a painful reminder of what was to come. Tonight was the night of his turning, or the Hour of the Hora, as she had remembered reading one time and William had assured her repeatedly that he was not going out.

She always spent a few moments during the day contemplating her options, deciding what the most logical choice was. Then, William would interrupt her and she would forget about it for a few hours. As if on queue, she sensed William's presence behind her chair as he entered the room.

"Hello, my love," he said softly, bowing down to place a kiss on her exposed neck. The moon shone through the open window, making their skins glow a soft blue, and the dying firelight made Willow realise she had not been able to see the words of her book for quite some time now.

She sighed, deciding to think about the serious stuff later, "Hello."

His lips worked lower, "What are you doing?" he asked between kisses.

She didn't answer at first, distracted as his nimble hands began to roam, "Oh…oh, nothing…really, I…"

William's large hands began untying her front corset. She gave in, leaning back and wondering why she bothered to put clothes on in the first place. His fingers slipped under the material and she gasped as his cool hands massaged her overheated flesh. She arched into his hands, her mouth opened in a breathy pant. He seized this opportunity and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, which then deepened as she let his tongue inside.

Willow's hips began unconsciously rubbing against her seat; her book forgotten as it slid to the floor unnoticed. Whenever she was with William, he always seemed determined to not let her think about anyone or anything else but him.

"W-William," she said thickly into his mouth, so it came out more like 'Millmiam.' He didn't break away at first, and she wasn't in any rush to make him. She wrapped her arm around his neck to pull him in, but also to hold herself steady as his languid movements made her wet and dizzy.

His nails scraped lightly over her shoulders as he pulled down her sleeves, leaving her shoulders exposed. Willow tilted her head to the side and he began to nibble her collarbone, "You're so beautiful…" he said between alternating bites and licks, which made her shiver.

"N-no, I'm n-not," she sighed without thinking, he only paused a moment before continuing.

"Yes you are," he insisted softly, his teeth scraping just below her hairline, "Beautiful. Like the sunrise, only, er, not as orange…"

She laughed and he laughed too, spoiling the heavy atmosphere and making her remember why she had attempted to stop him before. She jumped out of the chair before he could get his hands, or lips, back on her.

Willow paled slightly in anticipation, "Look, Will, I need to…"

"What?" he said, looking alarmed, "Are you sick again?"

"No, I…"

"Are you sure? Have you checked your temperature? Quick, let me get you some orange juice, that's supposed to help…"

"No!" she said more forcefully. She had decided she was going to tell William everything. He wouldn't believe her at first, she knew that, but she would sit him down and talk him through it. Then, they would decide together what she should do. She really loved him. What she'd said a few weeks ago were not just the words of Willow's passion, but of her soul and heart. She couldn't bear lying to him any more. Besides, this would be a good distraction so he wouldn't be tempted to go outside where Drusilla and Angelus were probably waiting.

"What is it, Willow?" he asked, studying her with equal amounts of apprehension and concern.

"I-I need to tell you some things…about me, my…my past." She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to read his face. It was almost blank, although there was some interest in his eyes, but mostly just an indication to continue.

"I'm not from here…" The words came out reluctantly, and William's face became worried again.

"Will, what…?"

"No!" she said again, almost desperately, "Please, just let me get through this…don't answer any questions, 'cause they're probably rhetorical…just listen, please?"

He nodded, unsure whether to answer, as she had just asked him not to, but she continued before he could answer anyway so he just kept his mouth shut.

"Well, I…don't really know how to put this…" She stood up straighter, her face determined. "I'm n-not from around here," she repeated, "Not from this…time."

She could tell he wanted to say something, he had that little crease from the top of his forehead to his eyebrow and his mouth was poutier than usual, but she didn't want him to speak. Not yet.

"It was magic," she began with resolve, "Not poetic magic…real magic. Witches…they're real. I know because…I'm one of them…I wasn't born twenty-one years ago; I was born almost a hundred years in the future. See, I cast this spell…" She decided not to tell him about his future self, chances were he probably wouldn't even be his future self anyway. "it was a-a time travel spell…I made a mistake," she lied, "and came here…It's the year 2001 where I come from, and I, er, may have to go back there soon…" She studied his face, which was uncharacteristically cold, "Look, I'm not asking you to accept it, I just want you to trust me on this. Can you trust me?"

Willow held her breath, waiting for him to answer. She smiled a bit when she remembered what she had requested him at the beginning, "William, that wasn't a rhetorical question…you can answer that one."

He met her gaze and she flinched at what she saw there, "I'm not sure I want to," he said hoarsely.

She frowned, reaching out to him, "William, please…"

"Stay back," he hissed, taking two large steps towards the door, "I-I d-don't want…"

"Will…"

"Don't speak my name!" he shouted, shocking her, "What are you, what are you doing…"

"Willia…" she pleaded, but he cut her off.

"I said do not speak it! God, to think I…you're nothing but a… a lying witch!"

The cruel turn of phrase hung in the air like a bad smell, hanging between them and forming a small wall. She paled considerably.

"I-I just wanted to…"

"To what? To use me? To…I said stay back!" he snarled, before beginning to mutter to himself. She picked up small pieces of it, and it brought tears to her eyes. "Mother was right…dirty…lying…stupid…" he mumbled, looking at the carpet as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Please, William…" She reached for him again, but he did not move away. Instead, he strode up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders painfully, causing more tears to fall from her eyes.

"Don't lie to me!" he shouted, shaking her, "Don't speak my name like you love me!"

"I do, I do love you…" she whispered, her head getting heavy from all the shaking.

"No!" He threw her to the ground, harder than before and she lay there winded for a moment. William showed no sign of remorse, only pure hatred, "You don't love me, you don't…" He stopped, let out a broken sob and ran out the door.

**Part XIV**

Her head was suddenly clear and she scrambled to her feet, "No William! Don't leave the house…" She heard the telltale sounds of the front door slamming and she ran, ran as if her own life depended on it, not just William's. She flew out the door, not bothering to close it as she could see William already had an amazing head start. "William! Stop! You can't…not tonight!"

But he ran on, and so did she. He was fast, as was Willow, but she was hindered by her of boots, which made her stumble foolishly every few yards, so he kept gaining ground on her.

"William!" she yelled, just as a dark figure stepped in front of her lover. "No! Go away, Angelus, leave him!"

Willow heard an eerie giggling from somewhere she couldn't see. "See, daddy, I told you she was a witch!" the same voice that giggled, sang.

Just as those words were uttered, two vampires in full game face came out of nowhere and grabbed Willow's arms, holding her in place. She struggled, but to no avail. The vampires just laughed along with Angelus and Drusilla, who had come out of hiding and was now standing beside her sire, a triumphant grin on her face.

William started to run to her, but Angelus grabbed his arms and held them tightly behind his back, "Ouch! What in the blazes are you doing?!"

"Taking what's mine, sweet prince," Drusilla smiled, not caring that he flinched away when she ran a sharp nail down his cheekbone.

"Bring the little witch here!" Angelus demanded, and the minions complied immediately.

"Get you're fifthly hands off me, you disgusting…"

"Can we eat her, boss?" the minion with a thick French accent asked, but he was met with a low growl coming from Drusilla. Willow was now only a few feet away from the vampire couple and her lover. She could see the yellow in their eyes and the fear in William's.

"She's my baby's to eat…his first!" Drusilla clapped her hands, William and Willow both struggling harder.

"Leave him, Angelus!" Willow shouted, "Take me instead!"

He grinned, slipping into game face, "Sorry, girlie, this isn't an either/or situation. First he dies, then you die…besides, you're not what princess is after."

William turned to look at Angelus, but the vampire jerked him around, so he looked at Drusilla instead, whose face was also morphed into her demon façade. He jumped away, but his struggles stopped when Angelus delivered a dizzying, but not lethal, blow to the back of his head. He sagged, but the vampire held him up with ease.

"The Hour of the Hora has started, daddy, blood will flow!" Drusilla murmured, moving forward to stand close beside William, letting her body rub up and down his side. He blushed, and Willow cursed.

"Stay away from him you vampire whore! Sick, crazy…"

She was cut off by a slap to the face with nails that dug into her cheek. She looked up and saw Drusilla laughing and sucking small bits of Willow's flesh and blood from her nails. "Ooh, I will very much enjoy seeing this one die."

"In time, Dru. Now, if you don't mind? I want ta get home before sunrise."

"Okie Dokie!" Drusilla wandered behind William, running her fingers over his neck, snapping it suddenly to the side. She knew it was close to the breaking point by the way William was grunting in pain.

"No!" Willow screamed, kicking, "No, not William! No, please!"

Angelus laughed heartily as Drusilla licked a path over the pulse point in his neck. "Watch him die, witch. How does it feel?" he didn't wait for a reply, "knowing he's right here and you can't do a thing…to know that you drove him out here to his death…it hurts, doesn't it? But it isn't enough; you need to 'be' hurt, hurt for killing your lover…"

"Die, die, die," Drusilla said breathily, looking Willow straight in the eyes.

Willow began crying harder than she ever had before, "He's innocent; he doesn't deserve…!"

She watched in horror as the lady vampire's teeth sunk into William's neck. His face contorting in pain was enough to make Willow scream louder and kick harder.

"No!" she sobbed, watching as his life drained away, "Oh William, I'm so sorry…"

"Willow?' he mouthed. He looked so clueless, that her knees buckled under her own weight, causing her to almost fall to the ground as tears streamed down her face, making the scratch marks on her cheeks sting.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she cried, pausing to see his lips move for the last time.

"Go."

A sudden burst of energy coursed through Willow and she redoubled her efforts, shoving the vampires off her and using all her strength to elbow them both in the face. They howled as the sharp body part came in contact with their noses, clutching their faces as Willow ran off into the night.

"Stop her, you fools! No…not that way! The other…" Willow didn't hear the rest, she just ran. Her vision was clouded with tears, but she could see the outline of the Sheldon's manor and ran faster. She had no pursuers, but that didn't stop her feet from pounding painfully up the cobbled pathway, through the front door and into safety.

As soon as she slammed the door behind her, she slid down it until she landed heavily on the floor. She clutched at her face, her fingers poking the raw wounds painfully, but Angelus was right, she deserved pain. Without warning, she threw her head to the side and vomited, trying to ignore the smell but not being able to and vomiting again.

Willow stood on shaky legs, trying to walk but falling to her hands and knees, her breathing laboured. She had to pack, she decided, the flesh around the pendant tingling sharply. She had to leave William's house for the last time.

It had been just over a month, but Willow still hurt. Her stomach hurt, her head hurt, her throat hurt from crying but more importantly, her heart hurt. She sat in a pitch-black carriage, tears running silently down her face. She had organised travel plans as soon as possible. The wait would have been about five months, but the kind old man who rented out the carriages had sensed her distress and offered a one-way ride to Toulouse, which she gladly accepted.

She considered going home, but couldn't. First of all, because she had failed, present-day Spike would most likely have her tortured and killed for not succeeding. But most of all, she didn't think she deserved it. Angelus' words rang in her head like a bad mantra, '…to know he's right here and you can't do a thing…to know you drove him out here, to his death…it hurts, doesn't it? But it isn't enough; you need to 'be' hurt, hurt for killing your lover…' Angelus was right, she did deserve pain. It was her fault he died…if only she'd waited just a few more hours to fucking tell him!

Willow threw her head back and sobbed, ignoring the dull ache that was forming in the back of her skull. He was dead. No, he was worse than dead…he was Spike. William was gone, at least, the William she knew. Nothing was left but his face and his body, and a soulless demon with none of William's characteristics whatsoever. At least she didn't have to worry about running into the vampire trio. According to Giles' historical records, the Order of Aurelius were migrating to Durham just south of Scotland at the moment, which was quite far away from where she was headed. If she had her way, she would be on the other side of the world by now, but she didn't have enough money.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped and she was jolted out of her thoughts. Instinctively, she swiped at her tears and put on a cool façade, awaiting the driver to come and explain that the carriage had been bogged down in the mud or something. She waited patiently for a minute or two, but the only thing she heard was a few bumps and shuffled movements.

"Paul!" she called, cursing her voice that was thick with tears, "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" he asked, in a slightly mocking way, "No, nothing's wrong…"

"Oh…well, good…Could you wake me when we make a stop at Orléans? I'm very tired…"

"As you wish," Angelus said, letting the horse trot over the dead body of the former driver.

He turned to look at his new grandchilde, who was wearing a similar smirk to his. Angelus glanced back to the seemingly empty carriage, "She cries for ye still, boyo."

He grinned wolfishly, "I know, I can smell it too. Shall I, er, go say hello?"

"Oh, please do!" Angelus said, "Say hello from me, too."

Willow was slowly pulled out of sleep, but she didn't want to face the day, so she kept her eyes shut tight. She could see it was dark around her, but sensed daylight just outside her carriage. She mentally shrugged and snuggled closer to her cool pillow, assuming she'd closed the curtains. Willow sighed, what would she do while she was in Brighton? Get another job at a pub? No, she would have to do something meaningful, aside from being groped, harassed and ogled by a group of middle-aged men with no sex life at home.

'Sure, Willow,' she thought, 'why don't you just marry one of the rich ones and all your problems will be solved!'

Woman's liberation wasn't for quite some time yet, and there weren't many jobs around that didn't involve some form of sexual exploitation. Perhaps she could write a story of some sort, and put it under a male name? 'Okay, Willow, I'll forgive you for that one 'cause you just woke up.'

She suddenly froze. Her breathing stopped, as her heartbeat sped up and her jaw clenched. Her carriage was low class; it didn't have curtains, or a pillow. Willow's eyes snapped open and she came face to face with William. She let out a scream and leapt off him, but he casually grabbed her arm to the point of bruising and tugged her onto his lap.

"Did I say you could move?" he asked in that cockney accent she knew so well from Sunnydale.

"Spike?" she whispered, struggling half-heartedly to get off his lap.

"How d'you know my new nickname, Willow?" he asked, then stopped himself and smirked, "Oh yeah, you're a witch."

"I thought you didn't believe in witches," she said, fear making her voice husky.

He laughed, "Didn't believe in vampires either, my love. Things change."

She winced at his 'my love' comment and tears welled up in her eyes. He merely laughed again and held her tighter on his lap, "Crying already, my love? We haven't even started yet!"

"Shut up!" she hissed, trying harder to struggle, "Don't talk as if you're William, you aren't!"

"Really?" he asked sarcastically, "and here I was thinkin' I was a sodding poof with glasses."

"You're supposed to be in Durham!" she snapped, not rising to the bait, "You were meant to get in trouble with the hunters for killing one of their mothers o-or sisters or something. Why are you here?"

"Looking for you, my love," he began to trace patterns on her back with his nails, his seemingly gentle, almost loving caresses drawing blood. "You see, you were meant to be my first feed after I became a vampire…by the way, remind me to thank you for that, you changed my life…well, death actually…but, you ran away before the festivities began, so I was left with that old bird…"

"Marie!" she cried, hot tears prickling her eyes, "You killed Marie?!

Y-You…"

"And my parents…wanted to get them back for hurtin' you, didn't I?" he lied, as if he was trying to blame her for their deaths, "made my father's death nice 'n' slow. He was begging, begging…"

She felt him harden beneath her and squealed as she tried to get away, but he just grabbed her hips and held them down, "Keep going…ah, that feels gooood."

Willow stopped and blushed, "You're sick!"

He laughed maniacally, "I should bloody well think so, my love! Anyway, the party was missing a guest…Marie wasn't any bloody help, didn't tell her where you were, you naughty girl. But, you did tell somebody…"

Her face lost colour, "Harry."

His eyes glinted, "Letters are funny things, aren't they? No privacy…"

"You killed Harry."

"Of course. He told me after about three hours…so much blood in people, don't you think?"

Willow was crying quietly, as he brushed the hair that had curtained over her face behind her ear.

"What do you want?" she asked, not looking at him.

"You, my love," he said, then there was pain, and then it all went blissfully black.

**Part XV**

Willow stirred under the cool bed sheets, moaning as she felt a rhythmic pounding in the back of her skull. She looked around the room, still a little disorientated, there wasn't much in the way of furniture, besides the bed that she was lying in and what looked like a writing desk of some sort. There were two doors, one that was open and led into what appeared to be a small bathroom, and another that was large and shut tight.

Suddenly, she remembered where and, more importantly, when she was, and unbidden tears came to her eyes. Becoming more aware of herself, she realized that she was, in fact, very naked, and her muscles tightened painfully with worry, as her mouth went dry. She was in what she assumed was Spike's house, and it seemed somebody was coming down the hallway in her direction.

Fuck.

"At last, she awakens," a voice said dramatically, "took you long enough."

Willow sat up straight as he glided into the room, the very picture of self-assurance, "Spike?" she managed.

He ignored her question, opting instead to sit beside her on the bed. She shrunk away in fear. "I was beginning to think I'd killed you."

"I wish you had!" she spat, and he grinned in amusement.

"You don't…but you will," he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "Soon."

"You wish!" She noticeably winced at her lame retort, but Willow excused herself just this once because she knew it was only due to the mind numbing fear she felt whenever she was within close proximity of this vampire.

"Up for a little witty repartee, my love?" he mocked, grinning wider, "Dammit, I left my dictionary in my other pants."

"What do you want, Spike?" she asked shakily, clutching the sheets closer to her breasts.

He rolled his eyes, "Did that blow to the head knock out your short term memory, my love? I want you."

Her eyes widened, "Why?"

"I don't know," he answered casually, his hand drifting up to caress her bare shoulder. She flinched away, but he dug his nails in to hold her in place, resuming his gentle stroking after her whimpers, "to hurt you, fuck you…love you."

"L-love me?"

He laughed at himself, "Well, mostly the hurting and fucking part, but yeah."

"You c-can't love," she unknowingly echoed Buffy's words, "y-you're a demon, an evil soulless…"

"Aw shucks, you flatter me, my love…Sadly, compliments won't get you out of this one."

Her lower lip trembled, and Spike longed to bite it. But he couldn't, not yet. "I don't love you," she tried bravely, but he only laughed again and pushed her shoulders back onto the pillow. She tried to sit up but he wouldn't let her.

"You will, my love, you'll ache for me with all your heart and soul all over again."

"What about Drusilla?" she asked, watching him cautiously.

"What, that nutter? She's too busy fucking my sire…and anyway, why bother with the Queen of Crazy when I got a warm," his hand tugged down the sheet, "perfectly willing, deliciously tight body right here?"

"I-I'm hardly willing!" she squeaked, trying desperately to grab the sheet from his grasp, but he held it out of reach just a little until yanking the whole thing off her. Her blush, which was already hot at the 'deliciously tight' comment, was now flaming as her naked body was revealed to him.

She scrunched herself up into the smallest ball she could, but he pulled apart her limbs easily. "You will be, my love."

Willow cringed under his hungry scrutinising, trying to cover herself, but that in turn just made her breasts bounce appealingly, which was a sight for sore eyes for the young vampire. "Spike, please…"

"Begging? Already? Gawd, those weeks with out me must have made you randy as hell!" She was about to snap back a reply, but his eyes darkened and his face intensified, "Did you miss me?"

He didn't wait for a reply, instead he pounced on her, his groin over hers while he pinned her arms to the pillow above her head. She struggled a bit, but he merely groaned and grabbed one of her hands, placing it over the bulge in the front of his pants, "Well, I've sure as hell missed you!"

She blushed and tried to pull her hand away, but she needn't have bothered, as he put the hand back above her head and leaned in to place a punishing kiss on her lips. She tried not to respond, she honestly did, but he was doing that tongue-sucking thing she loved so much, and she cursed her mouth for betraying her. Willow missed this, she missed William's lips on hers, and so she just relaxed and pretended he was William.

Spike, as if reading her thoughts, tore his mouth away and grabbed her breast roughly, making her cry out in pain as he squeezed hard. "I'm not him; I'm not your dearest darling ponce of a lover. It's me, Spike, the demon. You're responding to Spike, the demon. You're imagining fucking Spike, the demon. Say it!" he growled, digging his nails in, "Say it!"

"Y-you're not William. You're Spike!" she said through the pain, but it only increased.

"Who are you with?! Who are you about to fuck?!"

"You!" she screamed, feeling blood dribble down her breast, "You! Spike…th-the demon, I'm going to fuck Spike…"

The impact of the words she had just said hit her and she began struggling again, but he simply laughed some more, "You know what you want, my love, why not just give in to it?"

"I-I don't want…" she was cut off by her own gasp as his head dipped down to take her rose coloured nipple in his cool mouth. Willow held in a moan as he nibbled on it gently, before trailing light kisses up to her neck. She squirmed beneath him, feeling a wet heat between her legs. Suddenly, he bit down hard with blunt teeth, making her moan and arch into him involuntarily.

"See, my love," he breathed, clearly more affected by her than he was willing to let on, "a part of you still wants me, wants me to touch you, make you scream…"

"No." She tried again to shake him off her, but she knew in her mind that she wanted him to stay. He was still her William in body, and he certainly hadn't forgotten what she liked over the months.

"No?" His hand drifted down to the damp curls between her legs, "No?" he repeated, rotating two fingers just outside of her opening. His movements were tortuously slow, and within seconds she was lifting her hips in an attempt to have him deeper inside her. All the while, he continued to pull his fingers back teasingly, not allowing her to get the fulfilment he was soon going to make her beg for.

"Spike…" she moaned as he cupped her uninjured breast, pinching the nipple just hard enough to sting slightly and bring more moisture to her core. He appeared to be only teasing her, but she felt his hardness pressing into her stomach when he leaned down to lick the scratch wounds in her breast.

"Say it, pet," the words were soft, but demanding, "say it, and I'll do it…I know what you want, all you have to do is say the words."

"I…" she was about to offer a half-hearted refusal, but his hand suddenly pressed down on her swollen clitoris. Her eyes screamed while her mouth only opened and closed silently. The sight was too arousing for words, and it was all he could do to stop himself from coming in his pants.

"You?" he prompted, pressing down harder and letting his fingers vibrate slightly.

"No I don't…I really…" she groaned loudly, "want you to fuck me, oh god, please, Spike…"

"All I needed to hear," he lied, knowing full well he was right on the edge of fucking her, whether she'd said it or not.

He took her lips in a searing kiss, his fingers finally penetrating her wet channel. She cried out into his mouth and her hands clawed at his shirt, eager to remove offending material but not knowing how. William, while biting on her lower lip, removed the shirt with ease. She reached out, laying her hands on anything she could reach, including his back, chest and firm ass, which was impossible not to squeeze. He growled and fiddled with his pants, his hands shaking as he tugged them from his legs.

He had been waiting for this since he'd become a fledgling, awakening in a dark room and thinking of nothing but her; her lips, her blood, how she would taste while screaming in fear… Angelus and Drusilla had agreed to help find her, but Darla refused to take part and went to Northern India to soak up some culture. Angelus, on the other hand, knew how it felt to obsess over one girl, and this made them share a special bond. Drusilla just did what ever her daddy asked her to. This should have bothered him, as he was her childe and barely received any attention from her. Yet, all he could think, breathe, (although not literally), and feel was Willow.

He entered her and she gasped, tightening around him instinctively. His eyes widened before he began to ride her, her eyes closing as her breaths came out as short moans. After wrapping her legs around his waist, she met every thrust with a powerful one of her own. His head moved down to lick her breasts hungrily, grazing his teeth along her nipples every so often.

'Wrong!' her mind screamed, "Oh!" her mouth cried out. She was feeling dizzy, but she was fully aware of everything going on around her. He was pounding into her so hard, she knew if he did it any harder she would split in two. He wasn't breathing fast or panting, and this made Willow feel insecure for a moment before she realised his eyes had rolled back into his head and he was quivering violently. His hand slipped down to pinch her clitoris, making Willow groan roughly.

He slipped into game face as he felt his orgasm building up. Seeing her eyes widen in fear, he sniffed deeply, his mouth watering. He could stand it no longer. He gave her clitoris a slight twist and felt her quake beneath him, as he dug his fangs into her breast. He gulped greedily; the climax, mixed with her fear, a little magic and something undeniably Willow, created the most sensual blood cocktail Spike had ever tasted.

The impact of what she had just done hit her and she began to struggle anew, even though the orgasm was still racking her body. She grew tired and woozy, and the pain in her breast was deep and hot. She felt as though her mind was slowly drifting away.

He felt her worn body go limp beneath him. Realising he'd taken too much, he let his fangs slip out of her flesh, and licked the wound until it clotted. Then, he gazed at the face of his new, and now unconscious, lover. She was paler than usual, but he suspected it was from the blood loss as her heart still pounded steadily in her chest.

He grinned at her through his fangs. Now he knew what he'd been obsessing about all this time. She was so beautiful, not stereotypical beauty, but classical beauty. She had delicate facial features, with subtle pouting lips that he had to physically restrain himself to keep from kissing. He felt no restraint at the moment however, as he lowered his head to place a soft kiss on her pink lips, leaving behind a small smudge of her own blood. He licked it off and groaned, feeling his hard-on return with a vengeance.

Spike slipped out of the bed, "Won't be long, my love, you'll adore me once again." He then left the barely alive Willow in bed, while he took care of his needs in the adjoining bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

See Chapter 1 for warnings etc.

**Chapters XVI to XIIX (final chapter)**

* * *

**Part XVI**

Spike strode into the room to find his fire goddess snoring softly, her knees drawn to her chest in the foetal position.

"Now, now," he muttered, "this simply will not do."

In two long strides he was beside her, taking a moment to admire her beauty, then grabbing her by the hair and slamming her skull into the wall. Willow screamed and moaned in pain, but he just cradled her head in his hands and forced her to look at him.

"Come along now, my love, what are the magic words?"

She struggled to remember, her head pounding and the world spinning in front of her, "I-I don't know…I f-forget…forgot…"

He shook her violently, although his face was slack with not caring, "This second, my love, or you shall find yourself at the suffering end of a meat cleaver."

"I-I…what…I am…I am yours?"

Spike let her flop down onto the bed, "You better believe it, my love. You are mine."

"I am yours," she repeated, only because she could think of nothing else to say.

With her eyes closed she did not notice his face soften. He sat beside her on the bed, lifting her limp frame so she lay with her head and shoulders across his lap. She was still disorientated, and made no attempts to move away when he began to stroke her hair.

"Look, my love, we had an arrangement…You know why I make you to say it, don't you?"

She sighed, "So I do not stray. So I know who I belong to."

"That's right. Just do as I say, and…well, you 'will' get hurt, but…ah, forget I said anything."

Willow was in a state of semi-consciousness, so she just said the only thing that came to her mind. "Hones'ly, Spike, where'm I gunna stray? No one but me here, you an' me…"

"That's right, pet, for eternity…" he whispered, kissing the bruise on her forehead that was slowly beginning to form.

"Spike?"

"Yes, my love?"

"I want to go home."

Within seconds he was on top of her, his knees on either side of her hips and his knuckles pressed into her windpipe.

"You are home, pet. Say it!" he growled.

She merely opened her mouth to gasp in oxygen, which she wasn't getting. Spike released the pressure and grabbed her hair, tilting her chin upwards and baring her throat to him. He looked at the pale flesh and almost preened with pride at the multiple bite marks that spattered her skin. He loved marking her, but was always careful to keep the bites shallow so she wouldn't be left with a bunch of ugly scars after he turned her, except, of course, for the first one which was much deeper and would definitely leave a permanent mark of ownership once healed.

"No," she moaned, trying in her weakened state to struggle, "It hurts…"

"You're home…you're home!" he shouted, his teeth grazing her neck painfully.

"I-I'm home," she gasped, "home…"

He slipped into his vampire façade, grinning, "Yes, you are," he said, before biting ravenously into a part of her unmarked skin.

"Home," she said again, bleakly drifting into unconsciousness.

This time when William entered the room, a small voice drifted from the sleeping figure on the bed, "I am yours."

He cackled, "Too bloody right you are, my love!"

She stirred and awoke, not realising she had said the words, "Huh?"

Spike ignored her questioning grunt and adjusted the long green dress over his arm. "Come along, my love, it's time for you to leave this room."

Her eyes opened wide, "You mean I can go home?" He stalked forward menacingly at her choice of words, and she instinctively covered her eyes, "I am home, I am home, I am home, I am…"

"I get the point, pet. Here, put this on." He tossed the ball gown to her, and she tried to catch it, but her aim was so off it just landed on her head. He laughed, finding the image so impossibly cute that he wanted to fuck her through the mattress. But now was not the time.

"What's it for?" she asked weakly, holding up the garment at arms length.

"We're going swimming," he said sarcastically

"Oh."

He laughed hard, "God, you really are a treat, aren't you? We're going to a ball."

"A ball?!" she squeaked, her hand immediately going to her matted hair.

"Yes, a ball," he said, annoyed, "Get ready. I had some…women's things delivered; I don't know nothin' about that kind of stuff, makeup or whatever…" he shrugged, "Just hurry up, will you?" He left the room with barely a glance in her direction, slamming the door and leaving her staring blankly at the dress.

Willow stood up, leaving the elegant garment on the bed and wandering into the bathroom. It had only been a few weeks since Spike had brought her there, but she had lost count after the first few days, as they seemed to merge into each other. The windows were permanently blocked out, so her room was in a state of perpetual darkness making it hard to tell day from night. He had been brutal to her, and yet appeared to be doing his best to care for her. Spike tried to bring her a variety of dishes to help keep her strength up, but the stress didn't make the food sit well with her, and she was constantly ill.

She began running a hot bath, the steam drifting up, making her face hot and sweaty but she did not move. She knew she was cracking, going insane like Drusilla. She would often find herself seeing things that weren't there, only to find them gone when she blinked. It was Spike, she knew it, he was confusing her and making her mind into a mess she just couldn't organise. But, she also knew it was herself, and her stupid hope. Her hope made her believe she would somehow get out of this, but her hope also created such beautiful delusions that she would cry bitterly when they ended.

Willow turned off the water, looking at her rippling reflection for a moment before slipping into the scalding water. It burned and made her skin go a bright red, but she ignored the pain and went in up to the top of her head. She blew out bubbles, her mind not registering her lack of air. Her eyes fell closed and everything became such a wonderful black.

Suddenly, she was pulled into a sitting position by a familiar vampire, Spike, but his hair was slicked back and dyed to a bright peroxide blonde. He was also wearing his signature leather duster with a pair of black denim jeans. She gasped in the air, but didn't move her eyes from his gentle face.

"Spike," she said, reaching out to touch him and closing her eyes at the warm leather under her fingertips, "you're not real."

"Nope," he admitted, letting go of her shoulders so she sunk back in up to her neck, "Just a figment."

"Why are you here?" she asked.

He laughed, "I dunno, it's your bloody psyche, luv."

"I feel so dirty, Spike," she whispered, and his face became gentle again. He picked up a soapy sponge from nowhere and began cleaning her bite wounds. "It tickles," she giggled, moving her head back to give him better access.

He smiled, "You gotta fight, Willow,"

She frowned while he began cleaning her breasts "William said that to me once, when he was still human."

He shrugged, "He was a smart guy, handsome too."

Willow laughed, and then sighed as the coarse sponge scrubbed lightly over her shoulders, "He was, wasn't he? Still is."

"He wouldn't want you like this," Spike continued, moving the sponge to her other shoulder, "he'd want you to be home, or at least happy here in this time."

"I know," she said, arching into him as the sponge glided over her stomach, "but I can't."

"Why not?"

"I live with you, don't I?" she joked, but his face remained serious.

"You don't live, not really," he replied, the sponge moving between her thighs. She opened her legs wider for him, "You're still alive, but you don't live. William…"

"He's dead, isn't he?" she snapped, tears falling from her eyes.

"And whose fault is that?"

She closed her eyes, "Mine."

"No. That's what you have to realise," he said, continuing to massage and clean the wet thatch of hair at the juncture of her thighs, "shit happens, you can't change it. Spike, future Spike, didn't know this…but you have to prepare yourself, Willow. You will get back, but you may not like what you find."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I wanna go home," she sobbed.

"You are home, pet. As long as you live, wherever you are is home."

She hugged him, and he hugged back. She could smell the tobacco and leather, and he was warm. She clung to this illusion like she'd never clung to anything before. But she felt him drift away, and soon she was being pulled out of the tub by a cold vampire swearing in a way that would make Angelus blush.

"Fucking hell, Willow, don't die! You can't die yet!"

Willow was detached; she could see only blackness, his words were like a badly tuned radio. Suddenly, an enormous pressure on her chest made water arc out of her mouth, her eyes shot open and she vomited out the rest. As soon as she was breathing, Spike had gathered her up in his arms and was rocking her.

"My love, my dear sweet love…I can't lose you…" he muttered into her hair, and she heard the tears in his voice. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder. She felt the other warm Spike, from her hallucination, come up behind her, supporting her so she would not fall from the crying Spike's unsteady embrace.

They arrived at a large mansion which Willow didn't recognise. She held on tight to Spike's arm as she was still weak from her earlier near-death experience. Drusilla had helped her get dressed, applied her makeup, and brushed her hair while humming a joyful tune, delighting in digging the brush into Willow's scalp and tying up her corset a little too tight.

"Here we are, my love, the Brodereck manor," Spike explained, leading her to the entrance with Drusilla and Angelus in tow.

"Brodereck…" she said thoughtfully, her brow creased, "I thought you two were all 'mortal-enemy'?"

"Oh yes," he said happily, all traces of the earlier event gone from his face and demeanour, "we're going to eat his family."

"Oh," she said sullenly, "should I ask why you brought me along?"

"No, but I'll answer you anyway. You're going to lead the male population of the Brodereck family outside where we can…you know…kill them horribly."

Willow felt sick at the thought, "M-male population? How many are there exactly?"

"Only two, the father and Gordon himself."

"How do you expect me to lead them outside anyway?" she asked.

"Why, with yer attractive bosom, of course," Angelus laughed from behind them. Willow blushed and Spike frowned deeply.

"Watch it, sire," he scowled, but not loud enough for anyone but himself to hear.

"Well, I won't do it!" she held her head up high, "You can hurt me if you want, but I refuse to partake in this sick little game!"

Spike offered her a dark grin, "I'll hurt you anyway, but if you don't…well, I have minions all over the place, ready to attack anyone in sight at my signal," he smiled wider at her gasp, "if you behave, we'll just kill two instead of them all. What do you say?"

Willow looked around, her eyes lingering on a little girl with shiny brown pigtails and a skip in her step. "Mummy, can I dance with fluffy tonight?" she asked her mother, holding up a toy cat and waving it around eagerly.

Willow had to look away. She didn't want to have all these people's deaths on her conscience. Surely two people's deaths were better than over a hundred, right?

"I-I'll do it…" Willow said softly, but Spike still heard and grinned triumphantly.

"You made the right choice, my love," he crowed, just as they reached the door.

Spike handed the man at the door three invitations, and they were let in with barely an acknowledgment. Willow looked around the room, trying to feel good about how many people's lives she was saving tonight, but that thought did nothing to stop the bile in her throat.

He let go of her arm and used it to point in the direction of a familiar young man, laughing heartily with his friends. "Show time, my love," he whispered, pushing her gently.

She looked around nervously, and upon seeing a dark stranger's eyes flash gold at the little girl with the stuffed cat, she hurried in the direction of the man who was blissfully unaware of what was about to transpire.

**Part XVII**

"Miss Bloodeneen?" Gordon greeted her incredulously, causing each man in the circle to look at her curiously. She tried not blush under their close scrutiny.

"Good evening, Mr Brodereck," she said demurely with a small curtsy.

He smiled brilliantly, setting down his glass, "Chris, Simon, Peter, this is Willow Bloodeneen. She's a close acquaintance of our Will. Willow, this is Christopher Wright, Simon Lynch and Peter Kindley."

She shook each of their hands in turn, but they all insisted on placing a feather-light kiss on her knuckles before letting go. Willow looked nervously in Spike's direction, only to see him observing their actions blankly.

"So, Willow, did you hear the news? No doubt Will tried to hide it from you…"

"Er, no…sorry."

He waved his hand in front of her eyes for her to see. She noticed with dismay the gold band encasing his ring finger. "Married. Only been a few months, but my wife's already expecting."

Oh god, this was so much worse than she thought. Gordon was married and it seemed that marriage had softened him. He was now charming without being overpowering, and he didn't even mention her waitressing job or what she had said to him the night they had last met. It made her feel sick just thinking about what she was doing, the food she had consumed earlier that evening churning around in her delicate stomach.

Suddenly, an idea came to her and she felt a surge of happiness. She could stop this, all of it. She interrupted whatever conversation they were having and cleared her throat.

"Mr. Brodereck, would you care to dance?" she asked politely, offering another curtsy.

He grinned, "Why of course, Miss Bloodeneen."

Willow smiled back cautiously, then slipped her small hand into his large outstretched one and they began a simple waltz. The redhead stumbled a bit at first, but they both laughed it off and soon he was whisking her around the dance floor with relative ease. She was a little dizzy, but she kept up.

"Your wife," she began distractedly, keeping her eye on the target that she was slowly steering them towards, "does she treat you right?"

He laughed, "Yes. She's rather like you, in a way. Fragile, gentle…"

"Excuse me?!"

"…tough, stubborn, fiery," he continued with a saucy wink, "I'm crazy about her."

Willow gave him a genuine smile that he returned. She looked over his shoulder and noticed Spike was standing alone in a dark corner giving them a grim expression, while Angelus flirted with every woman in sight. This confused her for a moment before she reminded herself to stick to the mission.

Willow neared her destination, said a small prayer, and let her ankle roll on the floor. She cried out in real pain and stumbled right into a row of candles which set off a chain reaction sending all the nearby candles into the beautiful drapes.

The place was soon ablaze and women were screaming. Willow ushered everyone outside, "Quick, everyone!" she shouted, "Get out, go home…NOW!" She pretended to run scared with everyone else, but really she was checking closely for stragglers, as well as vampires looking to make a quick meal of a terrified, helpless person.

Her plan went surprisingly well, as the guests scattered and vampires ran in every direction away from the deadly flames. She was almost smiling to herself when she caught sight of a girl crouched in the corner, crying loudly. Willow raced over, weaving through the now sparse crowd to get to her. She bundled the little girl in her arms. The child didn't complain, just hugged Willow tightly and sobbed.

She ran outside and soon spotted what looked to be her mother, searching desperately through the mass of people. She was calling, 'Emily!' as loud as she could, her eyes full of tears. Willow opened her mouth to call for the woman, but a firm hand clamped over her face and dragged her and the child into an alleyway.

She realised it was Spike and Angelus, and her eyes widened. Angelus pinned the redhead to the wall with his forearm over her neck and Spike wrenched the little girl from her grip, holding the squirming child with one arm as he got in Willow's face.

"That was a very mean trick, Willow, my love," he said softly, shaking the crying girl until her sobs became whimpers.

"Don't hurt her!" Willow demanded, clawing at Angelus' arm, "It was an accident!"

He tutted, holding the girl up so her red face was just below his chin, "Lies do not become you, pet…because you wanted to save lover boy so much, now someone else will die."

"It's not a lie!" she lied, trying furiously to grab the girl from Spike's arms, "I won't let you…let her go!"

He ignored her plea. "You should not have done that, my precious fire goddess, you'll pay dearly…Tell me, my sweet," he said, now addressing Emily, "what is your name?"

'Don't fall for it…don't play,' Willow repeated over and over in her head, but the young girl still had so much trust for adults. She looked at him with shining eyes and answered obediently.

"Em-Emily," she stammered, hugging her stuffed cat to her person. The fear in her eyes alone was heart breaking, but the quivering of her body made Willow boil with rage.

"Well, Emily," he said sweetly, his arms locking around her head, "shall we teach little Willow a lesson together?"

"No!" Willow screamed.

The sound of the young girl's neck snapping pierced the night air. Time seemed to slow as Spike released her petite body. She swayed as her dead eyes looked into nothing, dropping her toy. Slowly, her body followed and she hit the hard floor, causing dust to cloud around her and sending her limbs out in awkward directions. Willow longed to lay the girl out properly, not so she was almost impaled on her elbow. Not looking so…dead. But she snapped out of her shock with a start, as hot tears began to fall from her eyes

"Noooo," she moaned, her body going slack, "she didn't…not her, she was…"

Willow broke down, her cries echoing throughout the alley, only to be drowned out by the din just beyond. Two vampires quickly dragged her screaming form away, leaving behind the woman searching needlessly for her daughter in the pandemonium, and a dead child staring unseeingly at her stuffed cat, who stared right back at her, its eyes holding the same glassy dullness.

"I am yours," Willow said in form of a greeting, and Spike smiled slightly. The death of the little chit had left her meeker than a bagful of kittens. She was almost child-like in her disposition and that suited Spike just fine for now. Angelus had predicted that he would grow tired of that, of her, throwing a regretful glance at Drusilla. Spike just smirked and bade them farewell as they left for the opera. There was no way he would get sick of his Willow.

"Nice one, pet," he scooped her up in his arms, "I got a surprise for you."

"A surprise?" she asked, "What kind of surprise?"

He grinned mysteriously, "A good surprise."

Willow bounced a bit in his arms, "You're not going to tell me any more about it, are you?" she giggled nervously, knowing 'good' coming from Spike could mean very, very bad.

"Nope!" he agreed.

She glanced around the hallway as he carried her, unsure if she wanted to meet his eyes. It was decorated with the signature vampire colours, black and red. There were red roses in tall, black vases, and pressed velvet curtains decorated the walls. She reached for one of the curtains but he tucked the arm painfully and efficiently behind her back.

"Wouldn't do that, my love," he said quietly, "it's daylight out."

Willow leaned into his chest, watching the mauve carpet move beneath them. She felt him smell her hair and she nuzzled closer to him. Instead of his tweed suit that was now only brought out for more formal occasions, he wore casual clothes resembling those of a dock worker. They made him look untidy but they were always clean. His hair also had changed over the past few months. The foppish curls were gone, and had been replaced by slightly longer locks that he kept tied up in an old-fashioned ponytail at the base of his skull.

"Here we are, love." Spike placed her on her feet. He then covered her eyes with the cool palms of his hands. "Don't look until I tell you to. Got it?"

She nodded and bit her lip, half scared, half quivering with anticipation. He guided her through the door, and her senses came alive. The room was warm and the air was thick with some kind of sweet scent. She could hear shuffling or rustling coming from the floor, and she smiled. It was some kind of animal maybe? She began bouncing slightly again and he laughed, taking his hands away.

"Open 'em up and look, my love!"

She complied and looked around excitedly expecting a puppy perhaps, but froze as her eyes rested on the man in front of her. He was tied up, a gag shoved into his mouth. His eyes swung wildly around the room, sweat dripping from his forehead and into the wounds that covered his face. He wore high society clothes, but they were dirty, and the bags below his eyes suggested the man had been there for maybe a few days.

Spike chuckled and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist, but she struggled out of them and ran forward to kneel at his side. He was handsome under the blood, only about thirty years old. And although she was certain she hadn't met him before, he sparked a memory in her. It was a very vague one, vaguer than Sunnydale, but still in her mind he was familiar.

"Spike!" she whispered, pulling the gag out of his mouth which was flecked with blood, "What have you done?!"

She proceeded to use the dry part of the gag to clean his face, carefully avoiding any cuts. He flinched at her touch, but didn't move away. She could tell he wanted to say something but his throat was too raw, or he was too traumatised. She couldn't tell which.

"It's a present, my love."

"A present?!" she almost shouted, "This is a human being!"

"Not just any, pet," he said proudly, "A poet. Francis William…something or other…"

"Bourdillian?" she finished, feeling faint. He was one of the poets she and William had loved when he was human, but he wasn't that famous yet. She remembered his picture from a book she had gotten out from the library her senior year of high school, which she had never returned.

"That's the fella."

"Spike," she wailed, "you have no idea what you've done…every time you do something different, something for me, you damage the timeline irreparably…"

"Enough with the time travel bollocks. I thought you'd be pleased," he pouted, sounding angry, "I did it for you. I love…"

"Just stop it!" She stood up and whirled around, "All these games, this-this depravity won't make me love you!"

"You will love me, pet…" he said dangerously.

"No!" Willow screamed, "I hate you! I'll always hate you! You're nothing but a disgusting…"

He jumped on her, grabbing her shoulders and slamming her head into the floor. She cried out but he simply delivered a hard blow to her cheek, leaving her barely conscious. He began tearing at her clothes, and without warning undid his pants and shoved himself deep inside of her. Willow screamed but he simply slammed her head into the floor again.

"Say you love me!" he panted, moving in and out of her faster. She just shook her head as she sobbed, and he began crying too. "You do love me," he demanded thickly, "I'd do anything…my love."

Willow thrashed around, but he was too strong for her. His nails dug into her scalp as he forced her into a kiss that left blood on her lips. Soon he was coming inside her with a growl, his game face on and his fangs buried in her shoulder.

"Calm," he whispered, stroking her face "my beautiful…Love me?"

"No," she whispered hoarsely.

He wept as he grabbed her shoulders and began slamming her head into the floor over and over. Spike's face soon disappeared and she heard a sickening crunch, then she blacked out. Mercifully, she blacked out.

**Part XIIX**

"Miss?"

There was a pounding, a vicious pounding in the back of her skull. Her brain was on fire. It seemed to be throbbing and twisting, trying to worm its way out of her ears and eye sockets. She moved but an electric like shock through her collarbone made her inhale sharply and her eyes flew open.

"Miss?" the voice asked again. She looked toward the man, who appeared to be the same poet as before. He was still tied up, but much less scared and unhealthy looking. He was giving her a once over, concern evident on his face, and she used her uninjured arm to pull down her skirts embarrassedly.

"Mr. Bourdillian?" she queried hoarsely, closing her eyes against the light that was making them sting.

"Shh, now, it'll be alright," he soothed, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm…" she coughed, "a little parched, to tell you the truth."

He chuckled, "Well, I would get you something to drink, but I'm still a little, er…"

Willow opened her eyes again and saw that he was still bound tightly with ropes. She sat up quickly, and gasped in pain. He tried to assist her, but he was still immobile in his demeaning position. She used the arm that didn't hurt like buggery to inspect the back of her head. It was a little bloody and sore, but her skull wasn't cracked. Her collarbone, on the other hand, appeared to be fractured, although not completely snapped. She felt dizzy but she didn't give into it, instead she turned slightly to the young poet.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice clearer.

He suddenly looked ashamed, his voice becoming low and self-depreciating. "The man…he…violated you. I'm sorry…I couldn't…"

"Hey, no, don't worry," the pain in her crotch sharpening with his words, "it doesn't matter, honestly, I…we were together before."

His eyes widened, but he said nothing more about the subject. "You've been out for about twenty-four hours, I think. The man…he was angry, stormed about the place, and then knocked me unconscious. I woke up a few hours ago and called out, but nobody answered. Usually the men with the deformed faces come in and tell me in less than polite terms to be quiet…"

"They're gone?" she asked quietly, noticing suddenly that sunlight was streaming through the windows which were now uncovered. She stood, ignoring the pain that spread over her shoulder and the burning between her legs. The windows were wide and she gazed, open mouthed, into the garden. It was a warm summer afternoon, the birds were making shrill noises outside and the crickets were chirping happily. The sky was blue, not a cloud in sight, and it made tears well up in her eyes.

"Oh, my," she breathed, pressing both hands to the warm window, "It's beautiful."

"Isn't it, though? I feel like I haven't seen daylight for months." His statement almost made bitter laughter flow from her throat, but it also snapped her out of her reverie and she turned to face him with a soft smile on her face.

"Here, let me help you with those ropes."

Willow searched a nearby drawer for some kind of sharp implement. She found a seemingly solid gold letter opener, and its presence confused her. Surely they would take a valuable item with them? But as she picked it up, she noticed a piece of folded parchment that it had been resting on and picked it up with trembling fingers.

"Miss?"

"I'm Willow," she replied absently, unfolding the parchment gently.

_Willow,_

_You're free now. Is it everything you'd hoped?_

_I'm not sorry for what I put you through, you_

_put me through much worse. I thought I would_

_be happier as a demon, but now I would trade_

_anything to be human again. If you cared about_

_me at all, come to our mansion on Inglewood…_

_I'm sure your poet friend will give you directions._

_William W_.

She read the letter three times. Why did he think she would come there? Because he knew her, that's why. He knew she would come back to him, if only for an explanation. But she also knew him. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have taunted her into coming, not given her the freedom to choose. Still, she had to go to him; she had to talk to him. First, however, there was some other business to be taken care of.

"Willow?"

"Oh, sorry," she blushed, kneeling down, and soon the rope was a tangled mess on the floor.

"Miss Willow, I insist you stay with my family and I until you are in good health. Please, it's the least I can do."

"That won't be necessary…I just need to get to a doctor…oh, and could you take me to Inglewood?"

It was nearly sunset as Willow hobbled down the street alone, still revelling in the light. The warm orange of the sun beat down the memories of cold and pain. Her injured shoulder had been safely bandaged, only hurting slightly as her awkward steps made her bones shudder.

The young poet had tried to convince her to stay with him, and she had wanted to. The opportunities to learn about his history were mind-blowing, but she needed to go home, her real home. Begrudgingly, he had taken her to the market place so she could pick up the ingredients for the spell home. It was there she had found some cheap wooden quills, sharp but extremely splintered. She bought them quickly with money Francis had leant her and shoved them into her purse, hiding them from curious eyes.

Willow reached Inglewood from the directions Francis had given her, and it turned out to be a very large mansion. It was dark and foreboding, but Willow didn't bat an eye at it. She made her way up the path and knocked lightly on the door. It opened instantly to reveal him; the man, and the monster that had plagued her thoughts, dreams, life…everything. Her mouth opened of its own accord.

"I am yours," she said, and the vampire looked pained.

"No, you're not, pet," Spike said quietly, leaning on the doorframe.

She blinked at him, her eyes taking in his haggard appearance. "So, Spike, why did you go?"

He shrugged, the deadly sun staying just outside the door. "There's some trouble with Darla. Apparently Dru had a vision that she was getting infected or something. We leave for India tonight."

"Why are you going without me?" she asked quietly, clutching her purse to her side.

"I dunno," he seemed to be trying not to cry, "I guess I want you to be mine."

"I am…"

"All mine," he amended, "Don't want you half there, looking at me blank-like. I thought I could settle for part of you," he shrugged again, "turns out I can't. And I can't have all of you, only my sodding human self could."

"Oh, Spike," she breathed, "I'm…"

"Well, you should be! Making me feel this way, it's a bloody crime, it is! Look, don't want your sympathy, I just want your effing love. But that's not what your offerin', is it?"

She shook her head sadly, "I wish I could, honestly. Can't you just…forget about me? Why don't you and Drusilla…"

"Sodding hell, Willow, what is it with you, an' me, an' Dru?" he asked incredulously, "She hates you, y'know, wants you dead."

Willow couldn't help but feel a little hurt by that statement, Spike seemed to notice and he grinned. "Wanna come inside?" he asked, just as the sun set.

She bit her lip, "Alright."

Spike stepped aside to let her through. She ignored him as he inhaled deeply, letting his hand trail over her hip. Willow wandered into the nearest room, its dark coolness making her shiver. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and nuzzled her neck. For some reason, she didn't step away, nor did she protest. The atmosphere was suddenly heavy as he dragged her slowly to a sofa. He sat and pulled her gently down with him so she sat across his lap. His lips brushed her cheek and she closed her eyes, twisting her head slightly so their lips met in a chaste kiss. Spike groaned and deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the outline of her lips before gaining access and slipping inside.

He was lost in the scent of her. The demon was quiet inside of him, his human side determined to be gentle with her. He was content not to make her scream, content not to mark her. His hands were achingly soft as he unlaced her dress. His mouth, which was now latched onto her neck, was making her quiver. He slid her dress off with care, but he paused when she gasped in pain, dipping his head to place a kiss on her delicate shoulder.

She turned fully to straddle him, kissing him on the lips, and wrapping her uninjured arm around his neck. Her dress was hanging uselessly from her frame, the top of her breasts just bared to him, but he wanted to see all of her. As if reading his thoughts, she slipped off his lap and tugged her dress down so it pooled at her feet, then let her underwear join it on the floor.

Spike stared. It had seemed such a long since he'd seen her body in all its naked glory, her figure a bluish hue from the moonlight that reflected off her skin. Willow sat on top of him, as he continued to stare. She smiled down at Spike and his erection became painfully hard It had been too long since he'd seen her smile, a true smile that lit up her face and made her eyes glow. She took the initiative and pulled the suspenders from his shoulders so they rested beside his lap. The redhead then undid the buttons of his shirt, her fingers shaking as she popped out the last one and pushed the garment from his body.

Her fingers were quick and light as she massaged the contours of his chest. Her nails lightly grazed his nipples making him purr gently, that purr becoming a growl when she lowered her head to take one in her mouth. His hand drifted between her thighs and he began stroking her already wet core with his fingers. There was no teasing in his touch. He could feel and smell the results from his previous assault on her and knew this would be painful for her if he took it too fast.

Willow mewled and began rocking, feeling the all too familiar hot throb between her folds. Moving her hand up to grip his now longish curls in her fist, she was surprised at how soft they still were. The strands tickled her palm and she tilted his head back to place long, hot kisses along the tendons of his neck. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard on her soft lips, memorising every feeling, every sensation, every tingle she was creating. She started guiding his head to her lips but let go, instead opting to undo his pants. His erection was soon in her hand, her long fingers doing things to him that he could never forget. He was always amazed how such long-fingered hands could be so feminine. But he soon realised that bigger was better, especially where foreplay was concerned.

"Spike, I want you…inside of me."

"Call me William," he almost begged, but she just shook her head.

"I'm not having sex with William; I'm having sex with Spike, the demon. Remember?"

This statement made him feel indescribably happy, and he grinned before positioning himself beneath her entrance and letting his cock slide into her slick opening. She gasped, and they both shared a long drawn-out moan as Willow sunk down to the hilt. Stopping for a moment and revelling in how good it felt to be a part of someone physically, Willow raised herself up again and sunk back down.

This started a rhythm that soon had them moving in synchronisation, his fingers pressing down hard on her waist and guiding her hips up and down his shaft. She rolled her hips in an attempt to get more friction on the tiny bundle of nerves that was crying out for attention. Spike answered this by putting a satisfying pressure on it with his hand and rotating his fingers in a slow, clock-wise motion.

She kissed him slowly, passionately, before breaking away and pressing her forehead to his, gasping in much needed air. He watched in awe as she froze and shuddered, and for once in his life he cursed the orgasm that was making his own body quake because he couldn't stop his eyes from slamming shut. Her cries were mind-numbing, though so beautiful and arousing that if he weren't still riding off his own endless climax, he would have taken her again, and again.

Willow stood on shaky legs and reached for her purse, but not before placing a lingering kiss on his forehead which he accepted with closed eyes. He stood too, in all his bareness, the very picture of desperation.

"No, don't go! I won't let you…"

"Spike," she said warningly, tears evident in her voice as she kept her naked back to him.

"No! I was a fool to let you go! You'll never leave me again, I swear it…"

"Spike," she repeated softly, turning around with her injured arm by her waist. Her other hand reached out to run her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and purred, tears falling down her face as she watched him.

"Willow, what…?"

"Shh," she whispered, her face inches from his, "shh…"

Her fingers trailed over his lips before she put her own lips in their place, delivering a slow, sweet kiss that made them both fuzzy inside. More tears ran in thick rivulets down her cheeks, as Spike studied her curiously.

"What's wrong, pet? Are you staying?" he asked softly, his eyes wide and searching.

She nodded, forcing a wet smile, "Yes…close your eyes, Spike…"

"You're staying?" he asked eagerly, "Pet, that's just…"

"Shh," she said serenely, "Close your eyes."

He let his lids fall and Willow barely held back a sob before placing a short kiss on his mouth, her tears mingling with their saliva. She let her head rest on his shoulder, inhaling his smell for the last time.

"I love you," she whispered, before plunging the stake into his chest.

There was no look of pain or betrayal on his face, only rapturous joy that soon crumbled with the rest of his body. The grey dust fluttered slowly to the ground, but Willow did not stick around to watch it fall. Her face was clenched in the effort of not caring as she fled out the door, unconscious of the clothes still in a rumpled heap on the floor. She ran, till sweat poured down her face and her muscles screamed. Tears flowed, she wiped them away and still they flowed, she hit them away, but still they kept coming.

The redhead finally reached her destination and fell to her knees. She grabbed a nearby container and began pouring salt in a hasty pentacle around her, and then she lay out the candles at each element.

"Humus…aquilo…ignis…aqua…" Willow mumbled while lighting each candle.

'Come on, Willow, you can do this,' she cheered herself on, doing everything in her power not to think about the pile of ash that had been her lover.

She began chanting, ignoring the dull ache that filled her heart. "Abandon laws of space and time," She sprinkled the Taola leaf on the flames of each candle. "Bring me to the date I seek to find, and as I quote the verse of three, drag me there…and mote it be. Dimitto…ipse… deorsum… dimitto… ipse… deorsum… Dimitto… ipse… DEORSUM!"

The sudden energy literally tugged her to her feet, her body strained towards the sky as tears poured from her colourless eyes. This was stronger than before, it felt like electricity was shooting through her veins, like she was aging incredibly fast. She looked at her wrinkled hands, then watched as they shrunk and became tiny and delicate. She screamed and threw up, but it was too late for the spell to be broken.

"So mote it BE!" she gurgled, feeling her skin grow ice cold, then white-hot.

Then, she was gone, a small crater in her wake. But apart from that, there was no evidence that Willow Bloodeneen, the young poetry teacher, the ex-barmaid, the infamous Scourge of Europe's only love, had ever existed there. Nor anywhere else.

_Fin._

_A/N: Yep, no resolve whatsoever! Bwahaha!_


End file.
